Nerdanel's Story
by Istarnie
Summary: Nerdanel records her memories of her early life, and her relationship with Fëanor.
1. Chapter 1

**Nerdanel's Story: Prologue**.

(A/N This was my first attempt at writing any story. Some chapters are already published on other sites, but I have recently re-edited and re-written quite a lot of the material. I am sorry for any confusion. The writing style I am working on is semi archaic, a little similar to 'The Book of Lost Tales'. I use the 'thou' form of address rather than 'you' when the Valar or Maiar address the Eldar, and at times between close couples and family members.)

With thanks to Bellemaine for beta reading, and to Emalin.

Disclaimer: All of the characters, places, and the main story line are JRR Tolkien's wonderful creations. All references are from The Silmarillion, or HoME Volumes 1, 10 or 12. Nothing is mine, except the interpretation and any mistakes.

'Her (Míriel's) death was a lasting grief to Fëanor, and both directly and by its further consequences a main cause of his later disastrous influence on the history of the Noldor.'

(The Shibboleth of Fëanor. HoME 12 _The Peoples of Middle Earth_. JRR Tolkien. HarperCollins Ed. 2002 p333)

The house of Sarmo Urundil. Seventh Age.

I rarely go up to Tirion now. I stay in my father's house, in the dwellings of the Aulenduri that are to be found further into the Calacirya than the city. My hröa has grown tired with the increasing labour of living; my memories weigh with the heaviness of faded glory and long-sung lament upon my fëa. The hope and desire that has sustained me throughout these thousands of years grows faint, that I begin to consider the seeking of release.

They say: 'The Lady Nerdanel endures, despite her loss and her shame. She is strong, and will prevail until the End.'

Strong? As a blessing and a curse has that gift of strength been to me.

Those who so speak have not my memories; they know not how I truly feel. Not even those who love me best know the full anguish of my heart. Many have endured loss; many have been sundered from those they love because of the kinslayings, the exile, or doom encountered in the Hither Lands. But none of them bore seven sons who yet fell from the light and nobility that was their birthright, to become oath-bound murderers. None of them were wife to the mightiest, the most skilled of all the Noldor - the one who created the Great Jewels; who led the rebellion against the Valar; who was blamed for our greatest woes.

None of them failed their family in a manner that led to such dire consequences.

"His fire consumed his lady mother. Now - finally - the outworking of his deeds will consume you!" my father says bitterly. "Soon will you have no choice but to seek rest in the care of Námo Mandos."

My father's words are meant to stir me into denial; into taking firm hold again of life as he says Maitimo would have done had he returned from the Hither Lands. But Maitimo did not return; neither has he returned from the Halls of Awaiting. None of my sons have. So it seems to me that my choice has become one of continuing to live and love ever in distant memory, even more than is the nature of my kind - or to seek my own doom - to at last be reunited with those I _still_ love and sorrow for.

As I ponder the past, I remember that day of such perplexity when Queen Míriel lay down to rest. Most weary had _she_ become for, since giving birth to her son, she had neither strength nor will to live. The death of an immortal in Aman - it was _unthinkable_! How much more so that it was something she had freely determined to embrace. I remember talk of the grief of King Finwë, that he could not hold her to this life with any plea. That though his love for her was a great and glad thing, it was not enough. And I remember the lasting grief that the unnatural denial of a mother's love and nurture caused to her son, Fëanáro. Though he was nigh early youth when she sought death, yet was he most pained by his loss. Dearly did he love her and, as with all in the Blessed Realm, thought never to be parted from any of his kin. So did he bury himself in pursuit of those skills over which he _could_ exercise mastery; over matters he could _control_, to ease of his distress.

Many are those who can remember Fëanáro's later deeds with no great joy. But it is the beginning I speak of. I, at least, remember it all so very well. I was still a child at the time Míriel breathed forth. I heard a great deal about there 'surely being healing in Aman', and about the realisation that the event had taken even the Valar by surprise. My father - for he was foremost of the servants of Aulë and of the masons of the House of Finwë - gathered us together: his wife, his daughter, his apprentices and servants. We all sought the peace and reassurance of the Valar for ourselves in such a disturbing situation; but mostly we sought peace and comfort for the bereaved king and prince.

"There is something gravely wrong in this. It will lead to an anguish we cannot yet foresee," my mother had warned.

"The Valar know what is best. We can trust them to resolve the situation," my father replied - though he, too, had many misgivings.

Both he and my mother knew of loss from those few of the second kindred who had chosen not to make the Great Journey, or who had been taken or slain by Moringotho in the Hither Lands (I cannot bring myself to write the fairer name that Vala was once known by). But we knew not of death in _Aman_. Most certainly we knew not death by free will! We were so naive; it was something then, unlike now, that was utterly beyond our comprehension. Míriel was, and then she was not! How could that be?

"Let her rest. The strength she gave up to bear the prince was great. She will return in time, when she is healed. She will be reunited with her hröa," they had said.

But Míriel did not return! A short time it seemed before our king, journeying upon the western slopes of Mount Oiolossë on a visit to his friend, King Ingwë, had met with another. Not that such an event would have had great influence on me had _I_ not met with someone while walking in the hills.

Ai! I remember it as if it were yesterday! I remember the first time we met so very clearly. When first I beheld him I was to know what beauty and power and strength were; for he possessed all of those qualities in a measure far greater than any I had ever encountered. That he had other qualities too, I was soon to discover. We walked and rode together at will – and as our apprenticeships allowed - away from the dwellings of the Noldor; making many journeys of exploration into the hills and across the plains of Valinor. We studied and worked together, discussing matters of lore, of craft - of our plans for the future. To my delight I found we swiftly developed such a love and affinity of fëar that there could only be one outcome - and that which _he_ had desired from the start.

The wedding of King Finwë to the Lady Indis of the Vanyar saw the resurgence of joy in the life of one of the bereaved. I believe I brought a measure of joy back into the life of the other.

Curufinwë Fëanáro was soon to play a central role in the history of the Noldor, along with those two half-brothers whom Indis bore to Finwë. He was to become the mightiest, the most awe-inspiring figure of the Age of the Trees. Ever in the background was I, and glad so to be. Yet I made my presence felt, and not just through those sons I bore and loved in turn. Later lore may have all but disregarded my existence, but then later lore was written by those who had little love for my family, and re-written by mortals. Little do _they_ know of one who left not the shores of Aman. Little do _they_ care about one considered wise, rather than beautiful.

I oft live in memory of the early days; the golden time before the release of the Vala who was to bring doom upon us all. That time do I ponder upon before Fëanáro came to his full strength, and began his greatest works. My husband's creation of the Silmarils was a wonder beyond wonders, but their magnificence only illuminated the flaws in his character. Jealousy of any who desired what he deemed _his_ by right, and pride in his supreme mastery of skills it was that made him vulnerable to the path of folly - possessiveness of the light that caused he, who loved the light, to stumble into darkness. And in that same moment Moringotho, consumed with hatred and with envy of his own, began his well-placed whispers of deception. Those lies, which further bound Fëanáro to the work of his hands, would in the fullness of time consume him. Such a waste it was - such a waste of what he should have become; what he should have wrought for the glory of Arda. Such a waste of joy it was, and of love.

In memory there is still fulfilment. For a short time I can forget all the grief that followed fast upon those days. I forget the agony and anger of our parting - the bitter memories he left me with, and I long to be with him again. I long to be filled with that energy which flowed from his spirit as a living fire. I long to be out in the hills once more with him, and with those beautiful sons he gave me - strong and swift and eager they all were.

But they are in the Halls of Awaiting long since – mayhap even Makalaurë has at last found rest? I alone remain in Elvenhome.

At times, when I read some of what is written, I wonder how much of it I dreamt and how much was real? I do not recognise my family at all in some works, while others leave out matters that were of great import. Some say still that he was wicked; that Fëanáro and our sons were cruel and fell. They became so, mayhap, but it was not always thus. I make no plea against the blasphemy of their oath, nor against the awful destruction they wrought upon our own kind through _three_ kinslayings. But where their father went, our sons would follow unquestioningly - for he was ever their 'bright flame' as well as mine. As for my lord himself - to be the first among our people in Aman to have a loved one die; to be the first to have a loved one slain; to be the object at which Moringotho's insidious hate was aimed; to have stolen from him that to which his heart was bound - was it any wonder Fëanáro became fell? It should surprise none that by the time of the oath he was nigh out of his mind - nigh consumed by pain and wrath.

The Valar understood. Even though they condemned the eldest son of Finwë, they mourned for his marring as much as for the destruction of the Trees. Was it not reported, and by the Vanyar, that Manwë himself wept?

My consolation and trial it is to ponder the past, and live in it again and again. To wonder if at any point I could _truly_ have made a difference to the way things developed. I tried to reason with him in those last years, for I was one of the very few to whom he would pay heed. Long indeed did I endeavour to change Fëanáro's mood as slowly but surely the loathsome evil of 'Morgoth' corrupted him, twisting him from my counsel and from my arms. We were in conflict, Moringotho and I, though at the time I knew it not and he had all the advantage. The power of a Vala against my small wisdom! The hate of a Vala against my love! Yet I fought for my husband's heart, for his innate nobility every step of the way - almost every step. That I succumbed to the deceptions aimed at depriving Fëanáro of any wise council; that I went not with him into exile in the north – those thoughts trouble me still.

His father would not be parted from him - nay, not in guiltlessness for his actions, neither in guilt. Finwë's love was never to falter. I should have made it clear to my husband that _my_ love for him never faltered either. I should have been with him! In seeking to be estranged from him, or rather, estranged from his deeds, did I fail Fëanáro most grievously. Yet mayhap do I delude myself, that _anything _anyone could have said or done would have made a difference to the course he pursued once Finwë was slain - once the Great Jewels were taken.

Many of those who died in the flight from Aman, in the kinslayings and in the first four Ages have returned to their families once more. They walk the fields, the hills and the shores in joy. Many more have been reunited upon Tol Eressëa, that place where the returned exiles dwell in sight of the Blessed Realm. Yet time passes, and few now are those who return from the Halls of Awaiting. Few indeed are those who have returned of late, and those who have are become much changed of nature. It is said that if one remains overlong in a state unhoused, to return to life in the body becomes a thing undesired. I cannot believe that is true of my family – some at least would wish again for life in all its fullness. Nay - they are still denied the right to return! For some, there is no forgiveness it seems; so dire were their deeds. There can be no forgiveness for _my_ sons, for _my_ lord, I oft have pondered. When they departed my life in that darkest of nights did I not fear it was forever, and so thus far has it proven. So does my hope fade, though Eru alone knows the final outcome of events. This choice lies before me then – to will my own doom or to hold on to that faintest, that smallest of hopes that there will be healing for at least one of my family in the lifetime of Arda. Since the return to his family of Prince Findekáno I know not of certainty which course to pursue – though the path of despair has never been mine, save once. So it strikes me that before I make my choice, I will take time to write down what happened in those early years, as it happened; and that for me will be another way to be with them all again in the times of innocence. Who is to say, but in the doing I may wrench back the smallest of victories from Moringotho for he who was my lord and my love. And in that, may my heart be at rest.

- - - - - -

Tirion – City of the Noldor in Eldamar. Originally the Vanyar dwelt there also.

Calacirya – Cleft of Light. Tirion is built on the hill of Túna in the Calacirya.

Fëa – Spirit

Hröa - Body

Aulenduri - Servants of Aulë

Maitimo - Maedhros

Moringotho – Morgoth. Fëanor obviously renames the Vala Melkor as Morgoth. In Morgoth's Ring (HoME 10) there are two 'older' names mentioned – Moringotto on pages 194 and 294, and Moringotho on page 294. I have chosen to use the later.

Oiolossë – The name most commonly used by the Eldar for Taniquetil, where the High King Ingwë dwelt to be nearer to Manwë.

Findekáno – Fingon.

I realise that footnotes are totally unnecessary for many people, but also that not everyone has access to the HoME books, so in case anyone is interested, I am including a few notes where I think it may be useful.

There is a discrepancy concerning the time of Míriel's death between The Silmarillion, and Home Vol12. The Silmarillion (supported by HoME 10) seems to say she died shortly after Fëanor's birth, while the 'Shibboleth of Fëanor' in HoME 12, 'The People's of Middle Earth', says she 'endured until he was full grown'. I have veered towards what I think were possibly Tolkien's later thoughts on this matter.

In this story I am writing years in terms of Years of the Trees when Nerdanel is recalling the past. In The Annals of Aman _Morgoth's Ring_ J.R.R. Tolkien. Ed C. Tolkien, it says that 'Here begins a new reckoning in the Light of the Trees' P 70. On p 59 / 60 there is a footnote which seems to give explanation of that time in comparison to our time of reckoning, as follows:

1 hour of the Trees 7 hours

1 day of the Trees 84 hours.

1 Year of the Trees 9.582 years.


	2. Chapter 2

**Nerdanel's Story. Chapter One: Míriel**.

(Disclaimer: The characters belong to JRR Tolkien. All references are from The Silmarillion, or HoME Volumes 1, 3, 10, 11 and 12. Nothing is mine except the interpretation, a few minor characters and any mistakes.)

With thanks to Bellemaine and to Emalin.

"Her father, Mahtan, was a great smith, and among those of the Noldor most dear to the heart of Aulë. Of Mahtan Nerdanel learned much of crafts that women of the Noldor seldom used: the making of things of metal and stone.'

(The later Quenta Silmarillion. HoME 10 _Morgoth's Ring_ JRR Tolkien. HarperCollins Ed 2002 p 272)

The house of Sarmo Urundil. Seventh Age. 

I used to stand by the window of our room in the high tower of our house in Tirion. I used to stand and watch to the west when I knew, through our bond of fëar, that he was returning from a journey. Always would I hurry to give him welcome for, particularly when he and our sons had been away on long exploration, I would be delighted at the prospect of our reunion. For a time upon his return I alone laid claim to his interest. Happy years were they.

When they all went into exile, when my lord and our sons went into the north to build the fortress of Formenos, I oft looked hence from my room in the high tower of my _father's_ house. But a poor view had I from that location as, to the north, the foothills of the mountains obscure the vista. My sons rode forth at times to pay me visit. But ever loyal to their father were they that their company was less frequent than I wished. It was Makalaurë, Carnistir and the twins whom I saw most often. Tyelkormo I saw not at all.

Then, when they all left this land in the darkness on that second, that most dread exile, I said my 'farewells' to each of them - but I could not watch them depart.

When we again had light, I oft stood atop the turret of the high tower of my father's house, looking into the east. Though by then I knew that my lord was slain, that our youngest son had perished, I still had hope for the remaining six and for Tyelpinquar - until Eärendil set foot in Aman.

There came the time when the Valar allowed the return of the exiles from the Hither Lands. After the War of Wrath many of those exiled returned with the armies of the Vanyar, and those Noldor led by King Arafinwë. I went with my mother to the harbour that was then being built upon Tol Eressëa. Cloaked and hooded we went; that it was not obvious to all whom we were. It would not have done for those returning to see amongst their first sights of the West, the wife of he who had led them to such tribulation.

Though I believed and hoped that my two eldest sons yet lived, neither of them returned with the fleet. Indeed, so fell was the news concerning them that my husband's youngest brother, our king, brought word to me _himself_, rather than send a messenger.

Maitimo was dead - having killed again to seize a Silmaril from the camp of Eonwë, he had then cast himself and the jewel into a fiery chasm in seeming utter despair.

None truly knew what had befallen Makalaurë; save he had taken the last Silmaril, but then cast it into the sea – it having burnt and scared his hands most terribly. Some few even said he had cast himself into the waters after the jewel, and drowned. Yet rumours had persisted that he had wandered to the northern shores, though none made specific claim to have seen him.

Throughout that Second Age I still looked to the east, for the return of my second son, or of my grandson. It was never to happen.

Not that I was the only one to suffer grievous disappointment. Many were to realise the fate of those from whom they had been sundered was to bide long in the halls of Námo Mandos. Bide long the slain of the Noldor did, save a few such as the Lords Glorfindel and Ecthelion, and Prince Findaráto.

Yet now have all who will, returned from the Hither Lands; and very many returned from the care of Mandos that it seems I alone am still bereaved. Prince Findekáno returned of late to his mother's people and now dwells of choice upon Tol Eressëa. They say that Turukáno will also soon return. That Anairë's eldest son walks in the land of the living should renew my expectancy. Yet it does but make me brood upon my situation. Though the Valar understand my pain, it is in my thoughts that - for the good of all the Noldor - they can never allow any son of _Fëanáro_ to be restored, to greet again of his mother in the Realm of Aman.

"Though you do no wrong in seeking an end to your grief, yet I believe that the higher path is to endure your vigil," Istyaro replied, when first I wrote him of my troubled mind mood. "Some things are hidden in the will of Eru, that we know not all that may transpire. And the Valar look less willingly upon those who would be restored, having once chosen to lay down their life."

My learned friend from of old has a very good point. Who is to say that if I chose to depart of life in hröa, one of my sons might not then be granted restoration? Who is to say that Makalaurë does not yet live – that he may not at last find his way home?

Who _truly_ knows, save for Eru?

If the Valar are yet compassionate, and what is told by those restored is true - that great love binds fëar even in that place of Mandos - I could again be with my sons; be with some of them, at a time of my choosing. Mayhap could I even be with _he_ whom I abandoned to himself? If he still has any love for me, as I have for him, mayhap that will be my doom?

But it will not be yet!

No more watching from towers or windows for those who do not return. No more crafting in stone. It is long since time I put away my works of sculpting and took up my pen to do battle with Moringotho's legacy - to set down in script the truth of those memories that are my glory, as well as my shame. It is long since time I took up the battle against Morgoth Bauglir that my lord began, and in the only way I can.

- - - - - - -

I was born in the Year of the Trees 1180, during that time when many of the Eldar first began the bearing of children in safety. Prince Finwion – Fëanáro - first begotten in Aman was himself born late in the previous year. Following the lead of their king, the Noldor began to again seek increase to their numbers. Yet all was not as joyful as it should have been for, in the bearing of Fëanáro, Queen Míriel became consumed in hröa and in fëa. She yearned from that time forth for release from life. That was the first sorrow to enter the Blessed Realm, and at it many wondered.

My father, Sarmo Urundil - also known in some writings as Mahtan - gave me the name Nerdanel. He is still a great craftsman amongst the Noldor, being foremost in the regard of the Vala, Aulë. Though my father has always had a most stern streak of temperament and is sometimes brusque with his apprentices, yet has he always loved me dearly and sought my happiness. Only to be expected it was that he wished to bring two of his greatest loves together. So from him, and from an early age, was I given tutelage in those skills of metal and stone that are rare amongst nissi.

Istarnië was the name given me by my mother, Arátiel Taurlotë. The wisdom for which the Noldor were already renowned was she thinking of when she gave me that name. Wisdom and patience are characteristics she has always valued highly. From her it was that I learnt much of true nobility. From her was I given understanding of the history and lore of our people, and skill in the tending of plants. My mother has always had a love of learning, of knowledge of many kinds. I remember her joy in sharing with me the early works of the sage, Rúmil, who was the first to develop a written script. She also loves the stars and would, when the mood was upon her, wander with me to the seashores where we would spend long ages together watching the sky. There would she tell me of the starlit Hither Lands to the east of the seas, whence she and my father had originally come - the memory of which was imbedded in her heart. In the service of Varda do I think my mother would have been most happy. But a true Noldo is she, who likes making things of her own cunning. When I was a child she would draw and paint the likenesses of the Valar in the physical forms they oft appeared to us. She would make carvings in stone, small sculptures for the most part, but lifelike to behold. So were my earliest works mostly imitations of hers, in drawing and painting and sculpting.

We lived then as we do now, in a sprawling collection of houses clustered at the western end of the Calacirya near the foothills of the Pelóri Mountains: the dwellings of the Aulenduri! In those times Aulë was ever the friend and helper of _all _the Noldor, but we were among the families who had entered his service. From him we received instruction in the lore of metalwork, stonework, and the crafting of gems - in weaving and shaping of wood and the tilling of the land. My father's good service since his arrival in Aman had ensured he was most dear to Aulë. He was oft a guest in the halls of that mighty Vala. My mother and I would, when chance allowed, accompany him there. Thus, from my earliest memories, was I familiar with some few of the Valar and Maiar.

I loved Aulë: his generosity of heart, his pleasure in works of skill - his desire to make things new and unheard of. Mostly I loved the way he - one of the Great Ones - gave praise and counsel to others, and listened to them in turn. He listened most attentively to my father's setting forth of plans and devices. Indeed, there was only ever one whom Aulë loved and listened to more than Urundil.

Now rarely was the work of the Aulenduri disturbed, but given the location of our dwellings as well as the requirements of our expertise by others, some visitors we inevitably had. Near times of festival our visitors were oft the highborn lords and ladies of our people whose estates lay on the edge of Eldamar and Valinor, and who were travelling to and from the fair city of Tirion. Sometimes would they halt to request refreshment from us. At other times would they seek to take rest in the many roomed house provided by my parents for that purpose. Then it was that the neri would take of opportunity to discuss works of craft with my father and his leading apprentice, Narwasar. Though of nature were my father and our artisans reluctant to leave their pursuits, yet was the welcoming of others a most noble duty. Despite his brusqueness, my father could be patience itself when explaining his craft to any who showed genuine interest.

My mother and our servants took upon themselves the main task of offering hospitality; so my father be not disturbed save at great need. From the first I could walk I sought to give aid to my mother in that service, though out of curiosity as well as a desire to be considerate. Fiercely proud, yet beautiful to look upon were our lords and ladies, and a most intriguing sight were their colourful cavalcades to me as a young maid. I would eagerly watch their approach - and when they left I would rush up the many flights of stairs to watch their departure from my widow until they were but specks against the far distant green hill of Túna.

During those visits, while the lords were occupied with my father, my mother and I spent time with their ladies. Strange did I find their lack of interest in smith craft. Strange, no doubt, did many a lady find _me._ Though they would attempt to speak with me of broidery, herbs and plants, yet did they look perplexed when I turned conversation to the smithy.

"What an unusual hína, Lady Taurlotë! So knowledgeable for her years; yet think you not she dwells overmuch in the forge?"

"Nerdanel is as Eru intends her to be. (All did bow their heads at the use of that name.) My lord Urundil does but encourage her natural inclinations; as do I"

Most of the ladies would smile kindly upon me at hearing such words from my mother, but some few would continue to view me as an oddity. Once I heard what I was not meant to, and that from a lady of aloof elegance speaking to her maid:

"The child of this house has unnatural interests – but as she has no great beauty to enthral the lords of the city, it will be no loss for her to find her place working amongst the stone masons."

No great beauty! Do not all of the Eldar, all of the Quendi, possess beauty? Does it not draw us; inspire us in our thoughts and deeds? Yet beauty is not only of the kind that meets the eye. I had not thought of myself as beautiful or otherwise until that moment. But never had I heard any speak thus of another. That fine lady's words so stung me that I hurried up the stairs to my room, where I examined my features in the mirror upon the wall.

So for the first time I made thorough study of myself, as if I would later make a sketch. My hair was not the usual dark brown or black hue of the Noldor, and was a touch unruly when un-braided, having a will of its own in whether it would curl or no. My eyes were just a little smaller, a little more almond of shape than some would wish for; my mouth was somewhat small, though well curved were my lips. I knew not how I was expected to appear to meet that high lady's criteria, but experimented with varying expressions and arrangements of hair until, after at least half of one hour, my mother found me so doing.

Moving aside the russet and green tapestry cushions, she sat upon the coverlet of my bed and spoke most gently to me.

"Do not confuse high-born blood with nobility, daughter; though most times do both go together. Yet some of our lords and our ladies have more arrogance - more _ignorance_ - than is good for them."

Wise words they were, from one who knew the noblest, the most beautiful of our ladies as a childhood friend and had been amongst her companions on the Great March.

"Beauty is important," she continued, "but those who make comment upon what they perceive from a few moments glance are somewhat immature, do you not think? Nobler are they who seek to praise, rather than to belittle. Those who are truly beautiful think little of it."

"That I understand, mother" I had sought to reassure her that I was not overly distressed.

She had smiled in return, but sought to reassure _me _all the same. "Though in appearance you have made no great impression upon that lady, yet are you beautiful, Nerdanel."

But she was my mother! I would not have expected her to say otherwise.

Though neither my mother nor I travelled to the city in the days of my childhood, we knew a little of what transpired in Tirion. My father would travel there himself six times a year, or more often should the king summon him. A few of the Aulenduri had set up a small enclave within the city walls, to be at hand for the immediate requirement of the king's house as well as of others. Amongst them were my father's sister's family. So were we kept informed of the desires and delights of those seeking to build new dwellings or to make decoration of their existing ones. Also were we informed of the marriages and births amongst the folk with whom we were aquatinted. _All_ of the Aulenduri knew of the most disconcerting news - the weakness endured by our queen - and of the fast growing reputation of the son she sacrificed so much to bear.

"It is said that the young Finwion has much of the look of Míriel about him," my mother had commented one instance at late meal. The first comment I was to consciously hear of him, it was.

My father, who had recently returned from a visit with King Finwë, had nodded in agreement.

"So I have observed, Taurlotë. Though dark of hair is he, like unto his father. I met him but once. Swift of thought and word is he, for a child. Onónon has begun tutoring him in smith craft, Tulcavaryar in sport and the hunt and Niecarindo in lore. He holds much promise I deem, to have the skills of _both_ his parents, and a great love of knowledge."

"And great impetuousness and temper too, it is said - that Míriel named him Fëanáro!"

My father made a wry expression that suggested there was some truth to this mother-name of insight. "Onónon said that he finds the prince - challenging!"

But Finwë was a strong king who commanded great devotion and respect. We thought he would also be a strong and guiding father. No need had we to be overly concerned with the 'Spirit of Fire's' seemingly complex nature. The children of the Eldar have ever been most biddable, and Prince Finwion's parents would assuredly teach him of restraint, as he grew older.

Now there was one time when Tolfaen, the renowned Teleri silversmith paid us visit at my father's request. He stayed at our house for several days as honoured guest, rather than in the separate dwelling. I liked him well; for he was very different in appearance and demeanour from the apprentices whose company I was used to. Gently spoken was he, though enthusiastic when talking of the skills he had learnt from the Maia, Salmar. On one particular occasion did he call me 'Nerdanel the Wise', for the vast amount of my childish 'wisdom' I freely bestowed upon him; and he gave me a necklace made from seashells. (Though of nature am I one to listen carefully to others, yet in my younger days could I talk overmuch to those whom I esteemed.) Most knowledgeable was he that my father - who preferred working with copper - sought to learn more of silver craft from him. A friend of my parents from that time forth, Tolfaen was to visit with them many times in the following years, and even to offer me an apprenticeship in the skills of the Teleri smiths.

So it was that we lived fairly quietly in the days of my childhood. I was most content with the life that had been granted me. Then, when I was almost two years of age, King Finwë himself came to visit.

- - - - - - -

Now as is well known, the stonemasons of the Noldor quarrying to find marble with which to build, had come across those gifts of Aulë, those gems of the earth whose radiance so enchants us. Freely we gave of them to each other and oft to the Teleri, with whom we had a deep friendship. It was, of course, in answer to the prayers of our king that Ulmo brought the Teleri into the west in the first place. My parents said that there had been rejoicing amongst our people when those of the third kindred had, at last set foot upon these shores. Not so long before I was born, my parents had themselves given aid in building the Swan Haven, the city of Alqualondë for King Olwë. (Alas for the horror that befell that friendship, for the abomination of Teleri blood spilt by the Noldor - by my family!) But at the time I would write of, work had been undertaken amongst the Aulenduri of crafting the most impressive of the gems into fine jewellery. There was to be a gift of one friend to another, a gift from King Finwë to King Olwë. To see what progress my father had made with that work was the reason for our guest's presence.

My mother spoke to me with thinly veiled concern, however. "This visit is as much an attempt to bring some lightness of heart back to our queen," she had whispered. "Your father will attend the king and the prince. Look you to the needs of Queen Míriel, as will I. For I fear that she may be beyond cheering and, valiant though her heart is, she is without strength or joy."

So young I was, so innocent of the world about me. To me, life _was_ joy: the pursuit of knowledge, delight in creating, wandering this Blessed Realm in wonder at the gifts given to us. The visit of Queen Míriel gave me much to consider.

As the king's party approached along the avenue of oaks, dismounted from their horses and crossed the circular courtyard before our house, I made to stand beside my mother near the door of the main hall, to await a formal introduction. My first sight of the king, at the head of the group, was of a tall, lithe figure; broad of shoulder and narrow of hip. His hair of silken black fell loose to his waist. Garbed was he in a tunic of white, embroidered with thread of silver and gold. Palest grey were his trousers. His leather belt was embossed with silver and sapphires; grey leather boots were upon his feet and a plain silver circlet upon his brow. Never had I seen a lord I thought to be so dignified; so charismatically commanding. But it was his eyes - thoughtful, powerful grey-blue eyes - that drew my attention the most, so I noticed neither his entourage nor almost the lady at his side. Yet as the group entered the main door; no doubt did I have that lady was his queen, for it was to her those grey-blue eyes most frequently glanced, and with the light of love in their depths.

Though my mother had oft spoke to me of Míriel it was my first sight of her, also. Slender, and delicate of form for a Noldo was she, though most regal in demeanour and beautiful to behold. Her hair, confined in a net of small opals, was unusual in colour - like unto shimmering silver. The sapphire blue gown that she wore that day was overworked with elaborate silver designs amongst which were set further gems. And it was whispered by Failië, who stood behind me, that Míriel had made the designs herself! A queen she was, embroidering her own gowns! But then, there were never any who could compete with Míriel Þerendë in finesse of hand at embroidery.

Yet weary did Queen Míriel look. It seemed to me that her heart was heavy indeed. She stood at the side of her lord, speaking softly to all of those who greeted her. She smiled briefly, though most radiantly at my mother. But before my father had finished his introductions or could escort the king and queen to our great hall, she drew aside. Asking leave of her lord, then gesturing for her ladies to leave her be, she walked out of the entrance hall towards the gardens. My mother nodded to me, so it was that we both followed discreetly. Was it not what my mother had feared would come to pass?

We were not to speak with King Finwë at that time, nor hear the exchange concerning the progress of the gifts for Olwë, my mother and I. Neither were we to hear Finwë's long account to my father of his pleasure in the fast growing skills of his beloved son, who had surprisingly been unable to accompany his parents on that particular visit.

(After the king had left, my father told us all that was said. He told us he had been apprehensive King Finwë would ask of him to oversee the instruction of his son, who, it appeared, was _still_ proving challenging to Onónon. Though my father would have done whatever Finwë asked of him, he was not overly enthused about having the strong willed, hot-tempered prince as an apprentice, no matter how promising he was.)

"No need is there for your concern. I will but take a short rest here, for the fragrance of your garden is a pleasing tonic unto me." The delicate enunciation of Míriel greeted us as we rounded the corner of the walled pleasance.

My mother made a curtsy, gesturing for me to do likewise; but the queen waved that the gesture was unnecessary. She and my mother had been friends in their youth, and were distantly related; both being descendents of Tata and Tatië - though of different lineage. It seemed she would have no unnecessary ceremony from Taurlotë.

Confident of their relationship, my mother spoke familiarly in response. "I _am_ concerned for you, Míriel," said she, taking a seat in the bower opposite our guest. "There is a steadfastness about you, but it is not a form that springs from true hope - only from resignation. I wish to be of assistance, if you would but permit?"

Míriel smiled faintly as if her thoughts were elsewhere. But then she fixed her brilliant eyes upon me that I could see of the stubborn strength within her fëa. Weak in body, consumed by giving birth to such a son, they said; yet as I watched her expressions, her movements, I saw how unassailable she was in spirit.

"There are none who can help me. What I desire must wait yet awhile," she mused. Then, breaking the intensity of her gaze upon me, she turned again to address my mother. "So this is your daughter, Taurlotë?"

"Yes; forgive me, my queen. This is my daughter - Nerdanel." My mother spoke with a pride that warmed me, bringing a smile to my face.

I had nothing to be ashamed of in the presence of our highest lady. Míriel was kindness itself. She smiled back at me in a thoughtful manner.

"Such rare colouring! Her hair is of a most unusual brown. It seems to have the odd streak of red lurking in its depths. I have not noticed such hair colour before," she observed.

"Has that not oft been said of you, Míriel? Most rare is silver hair amongst the Noldor."

"_Unknown_ is copper-brown hair amongst the Eldar, save for your husband and his sister," Míriel countered immediately.

My mother smiled at having drawn so swift a response. "Nerdanel has something of the colouring of her father, it is true, though of a far more muted tone. The glint of redness is only lit to flame in the full light of Laurelin." She beckoned for me to sit next to her, and then raised a hand to stroke my hair as if it were something most precious to her. "That is not all she has inherited from my lord Urundil. She already has skill with stonework that makes him proud, though it is a little unusual in a wendë to have such interests."

I coloured with emotion, as was my nature, at my mother's words and I was concerned that the hue of my face was matching the red glints in my hair. Strong emotions were always hard for me to hide. One had but to look to my complexion to see what I felt in my heart. But Míriel did not seem to find this unbecoming. She appeared to behold me with ever more esteem.

"Your mother says she wishes to assist me. Do you also wish to be of help, little maid?"

There was the sound of sudden laughter, and we three turned abruptly to see what the commotion was about. But it was only the neri, crossing the courtyard to the forge. They would be examining the quality of the work done for King Finwë, and we could be excused yet awhile.

"I will help if I can, my queen." I brought Míriel's attention back to the moment.

"Ai, yes! Then there is something I would ask of you. Something that, with the skill your mother speaks of, you could do for me?"

"Willingly!" I had replied. Though little did I know to what that response would lead.

"Craft something for me - a sculpture, something from stone that I may admire. Make me something of life and of joy as you perceive it, and I will gift you in return."

I was startled at the request, as well as at her generous offer of a gift. How could _I _make something fitting? Míriel was talented far beyond the likes of me. But I would not dishonour my father, or the skills he had taught me. So I curtseyed to her.

"That I shall do, my queen. I will start straight away."

Míriel laughed openly, a sweetly musical sound that brought more animation to her face than I had previously seen. She was so very beautiful, I thought.

"Such eagerness in one so young! Wait at least until this visit is over. For will there not be feasting and singing and dancing to come?"

Putting a hand upon my shoulder, my mother spoke for and to me. "Indeed there shall be. And my daughter shall be part of it, though she would prefer to be making study, or out wandering in the hills."

Míriel nodded thoughtfully, but there was a strange glimmer in her eyes. "All to the good." she whispered, and leant forward to me. "But life is for happiness with others, also. Do not shut yourself away, little maid. Now, you shall send me my gift as soon as you may. It will be something to lift my heart; I have no doubt. _My_ gift you may not have for a few years yet. Though it will be something most precious," she added enigmatically.

We took a stroll around the pleasance, through the formal garden, the rose garden and on to the orchard, across the stepping-stones that led to my favourite grotto. We spoke of other matters, of memories of childhood shared, of games and dances and festivals. Soon enough, we returned to join the main party. Finwë was to surprise his wife with a necklace that my father had forged in secret, on the king's instructions. Sapphires and diamonds shone brilliantly in a setting of finely wrought silver, creating an illusion of stars in a darkened sky. Míriel smiled, thanking her lord most profusely, but she had become weakened and her thoughts were again elsewhere.

As the queen departed some time later, her eyes sought me out in the crowd of well wishers. "Remember," her voice was like soft music in my ears. "Remember my gift, Nerdanel, and care for it well when you receive it. I shall not make its like twice."

'Embroidery!' I had thought. 'It will be a piece of magnificent embroidery that I may show in future times to my own descendents, as an example of the queen's esteem for me.'

I never saw her again. Míriel died! And her gift? It was not embroidery.

- - - - - - -

Makalaurë – Maglor

Carnistir - Caranthir

Tyelkormo – Celegorm

Tyelpinquar - Celebrimbor

Arafinwë – Finarfin

Findaráto – Finrod

Findekáno – Fingon

Turukáno - Turgon

Anarië – Fingolfin's wife

Maitimo – Maedhros

Curvo – Curufin

Ambarussa the younger - Amras

Moringotho – Morgoth

Finwion – Childhood name of Fëanor.

Aulenduri - Servants of Aulë

Nís / nissi – Adult she-Elf. / she-Elves

Hína - Child

wendë - girl, young she-Elf

neri -he-Elves

Þerendë – Serendë. See The Shibboleth of Fëanor HoME 10 for Fëanor's insistence on using the original Þ rather than 's'.

Tata and Tatië - In 'The legend of the Awakening of the Quendi' ( HoME 11) it says that Tata was the second Elf to awaken. Tatië, his spouse, was asleep beside him until he awoke her. From this couple, and those Tata chose of the subsequently awoken Elves, the Noldor would eventually spring.

Regarding Nerdanel's hair colour: I can't find an exact reference to her hair, though in 'The Shibboleth of Fëanor' _The Peoples of Middle-Earth_ it says Carnistir had dark brown hair and the ruddy complexion of his mother. I assume from the manner in which this is expressed that _she_ did not have dark brown hair. In The Shibboleth it also says that the first and last of Nerdanel's children (Maitimo and the twins) had the reddish hair of her kin. (p353) (Not necessarily her!) Of her father, Urundil, it is said ' His hair was not as dark or black as was that of most of the Noldor, but brown, and had glints of coppery-red in it.' (p336)

In 'The problem of Ros' _The Peoples of Middle-Earth_ it says '…referring to red, red-brown hair of the first, sixth and seventh sons of Fëanor, descending to them from their maternal grandfather, father of Nerdanel, Fëanor's wife, a great craftsman, devoted to Aulë.'. (p368)

There is the issue of the epessë given to Urundil of 'rusco', meaning 'fox', and, of course Russandol, 'copper-top' for Maitimo. The twins name, Ambarussa, is given as 'top-russet'.

I have also been told that in the work 'Vinya Tengwar: 41' it is stated that Nerdanel has brown hair.

From all of this I am writing as if her hair is a medium brown with some red / copper glints in it. I am assuming that Maitimo and the younger of the twins have Urundil's colouring. The elder twin is said to grow darker in hair colouring as he grows older. (p355)

Saying all this, I am no expert on Tolkien or on Quenya, so I could well be wrong.

Regarding Míriel's hair colour, it says in 'The Later Quenta Silmarillion' _Morgoth's Ring,_ that her hair was like silver. It also says that Fëanor in childhood was like his mother in voice and countenance. In all the references I can find, Fëanor has raven-dark hair. Finwë is recorded in notes to 'The Shibboleth of Fëanor' as having black hair and brilliant grey-blue eyes.(p357)


	3. Chapter 3

**Nerdanel's Story: Fëanáro. Part One. **

(Disclaimer: All of the characters, places, and the main story line are JRR Tolkien's wonderful creations. All references are from The Silmarillion, or HoME Volumes 1, 3,10, 11 or 12. Nothing is mine except the interpretation, any mistakes and in this chapter, in the sense he is derived from reading the works of Tolkien, the character 'Gaerion'.)

"In her youth she (Nerdanel) loved to wander far from the dwellings of the Noldor, either beside the long shores of the Sea or in the hills; and thus she and Fëanor had met and were companions in many journeys."

('The Later Quenta Silmarillion'. HoME 10 _Morgoth's Ring_. JRR Tolkien. HarperCollins Ed. 2002 p272)

The house of Sarmo Urundil. Seventh Age

So shall I write of _him,_ as I alone knew him to be; that some who knew him not may come to realise there was more to the paradox of the 'Spirit of Fire' than flame alone. The brightest light of the Noldor was he: most skilled, most subtle of mind, most enduring, most illuminating – most beautiful to behold. Fire is creative – transforming, life giving. Yet it is truth that fire can also be fiercely destructive if not properly contained. That when free to do as it will, it destroys all it comes into contact with.

Now Míriel did much to contain and soften her son's impetuous character while she lived, and he long allowed, nay encouraged me to do likewise through the giving of wise council. When the fires of his heart became over-heated, did he not turn to me to help him of restraint? Did he not know the rashness of his temper was self-defeating! One of the very few things that _could_ defeat him was his temper. He endeavoured to curb his mood on many occasions, and oft succeeded. For he was of high and noble blood - it was not his intention to destroy, but to create. _That_ could only be achieved by a fire which was under his control, and no conflagration.

To his father and our people in times past, was he Curufinwë: Finwë's skill, his pride - his beloved firstborn son. In the privacy of our union was he oft Finwion, and that childhood name meant as no discourtesy, but spoken first in loving affirmation of his place in his father's heart – and in mine. There was a time in the later days when he wished to be known as the Þerendion, out of respect for his mother and defiance of those linguistic loremasters who so offended him - whom he believed were following the Valar's plot to oust him from his position of authority. Atar was he to seven sons - a role he tried hard to fulfil, though many imply he was poor at that task. So poor was he that all his sons loved him. All would all have followed him wherever he led. All would – and did, save for one – die for him. And before the end, when the madness of grief and anger was upon him, he was our King.

Indeed, he was a paradox – both the best and, at times, the worst of our kindred. Ever complex was he. Yet of his names and titles 'Fëanáro' was best suited to his dominant characteristics.

So shall I write of _Fëanáro, _as I once knew him to be. So shall I write of my much maligned lord.

Where to start?

Mayhap with one area concerning which little was ever put into script – with our meeting, our courtship and our marriage.

- - - - -

I know what some few have written in more recent times; that Fëanáro wed me for my father's skill; for the knowledge of the lore of crafting with metal that Aulë passed on to Urundil.

It was not so!

We wed for love. Neither guile nor deception was possible for us, for the intent of the heart we read in each other's eyes and confirmed in our union. And Fëanáro was in no way tainted, in no way corrupted from the norm of the Eldar in that matter. How foolish would he have been to bind himself in fëa to a wife for all time, chose she who was to be mother to his children in order to gain a skill that he could acquire from my father anyway?

What I sometimes ponder is why those who believe my lord was essentially evil consider _I_ accepted _him_? Was I not one of those most devoted to the Valar? Was I not considered wise? Overwhelmed by the intensity of Prince Fëanáro's attention, by his steadfast pursuit though I was, I would not have contemplated a betrothal, most certainly not wed with one in whom there was any evidence of wickedness or cruelty.

"But nothing is evil in the beginning." I hear your unspoken words.

Such is truth! Not even Curumo or Sauro were created evil. Such a thing Eru does not do. So do I make my point; that neither Fëanáro nor any of our sons were intrinsically evil.

But much is said of Fëanáro and wickedness - and it is love that I would speak of.

It is said in some writings, and widely accepted, that Fëanáro's greatest love was for his father and for the great jewels. In some ways was that so; but it meant not that he had little love for any other. He felt emotion with intense depth and passion; yet love and grief, were they not close fellows in his heart? He, who was so strong in so many ways, gave of himself utterly, or not at all. Jealously did he guard any to whom his love was given, least he lost again the object of his desire and could not endure the pain of separation. Herein, if such you look for, lay a flaw in his character. But who amongst the Children of Eru is perfect? Most dear was his mother to him, you must understand. Yet long did I know, and our sons also, that we were most dear to his heart.

- - - - -

Now, in my early youth I was in the habit of walking oft in the hills or by the long shores of the sea. Though I loved my studies and took most seriously my training with my father, I continued with the delight of wandering the Blessed Realm my mother had bequeathed to me. In my early childhood I had spent much time with her by the sea, and later I walked there alone, pondering the mysteries of life. There was no real threat, no real danger to a maid wandering unescorted. None there were who would accost her, nor harm her in any way. Such thoughts were not in the minds of the Eldar. There was no danger from the creatures of the land, so it was that only had I been exceptionally careless or chosen to throw myself off a mountain or a cliff onto rocks below that I would have suffered great harm.

There were some occasions when I walked by the shores that I had the company of a Teler youth. He taught me of the life of the coastlands, of the creatures of the seas, and spoke with a musical lilt of his longing for the sea swell and salt air. He spoke also of the white ship he hoped to one-day command. A silver-haired boy was he, of happy countenance; a free spirit who enjoyed my company it seemed. My father was not so happy when I mentioned Gaerion to him.

"A Teler! What do you and he have in common, daughter?" Urundil had spoken with no small concern. We were among the first of that generation to grow to maturity in Aman, Gaerion and I. Though neither of us was then full grown, it was widely known that some had already chosen one another for betrothal. My father had no issue with my choice of a Teleri friend; indeed, did he not have friends amongst the Teleri? But he was becoming aware that I was reaching an age when I _might_ begin to consider my choice of a husband. He thought it unwise of me to give my heart's love to one who did not share my interests, or my growing devotion to Aulë.

"The Teleri give their loyalty to Ulmo and to Ossë; in them do they put their trust. It is not so with the Noldor," my father reminded me.

I knew that my father had hopes of me choosing to serve Aulë of my own accord. To that end he directed his instructing of me in skills of metalwork and stonework. He need not have worried, however. Although I loved well the company of Gaerion I had not the longing nor affinity of fëa with him which would have led us to espouse. Of a seafaring family was he - not one such as Tolfaen to hold my interest with talk of works of skill. And soon enough was I to meet with one whom my father could not fault. Not at that time!

- - - - - - -

It came to pass that I had been away from the dwellings of the Aulenduri for two days - not overly long for my usual walks - when upon my homeward journey I met with another in the hills.

At the time of my encounter had I decided to climb atop a large, anvil shaped rock that seemed to loom as a stone guardian over the western entrance to the Calacirya. We called that rock 'Aulë's fortress', though no such place had we then built. A most pleasant spot it was to take of a short rest before I made my final decent. I had brought out some fruit, some waybread and water, thinking to partake and enjoy the view over the fields below. Enjoy the view I did!

Though at times I met with others on my wanderings, there were many paths to explore and I could easily travel in solitude. But a lone figure there was that day in the valley beneath me, swiftly making his way up to the rock upon which I sat.

Fast and purposeful was his stride, as one who knew exactly where he was going. A tall figure, taller than most, with a slender wiriness of form that I suspected belied the true measure of his strength. The breeze had caught up his loose, raven-dark hair as a banner, and his cloak of grey swirled down from broad, powerful shoulders. Young was he, as of my generation rather than those who had made the Great March. Yet in some manner he seemed to carry the weight of ages with him.

In the same instant that I focused upon him, he looked up to the heights, so that his eyes met mine. It was as if he saw through my thoughts into my very fëa with those piercingly bright grey eyes. Such forcefulness and purpose was in his gaze that it was all I could do not to bow my head to him in the deference one would show a Vala. So it seemed as if an enchantment had been laid upon me, for in my heart arose a sudden, hitherto unknown desire.

Still maintaining his swift approach, he spoke:

"Well met, my lady! I had not thought to chance upon another so far from habitation this day."

In hearing his words I was doubly ensnared, for his voice was beguilingly charismatic.

Most easily could I have lost my sense of propriety in that instant - could I have made declaration of love or devotion to one I knew not. But it is not in the nature of the Eldar to be swayed in heart by fair appearance alone. Nor was I overcome that I would disregard the courtesy one should give a fellow traveller.

"Well met, my lord," I responded, though my heart beat noticeably faster than I had ever remembered. Something there was about him that clearly said he was no ordinary Elda. And such an air of authority did he have, as one who answered but to his own will. I wondered if he could be a Maia, choosing to take recognisable form in order to converse with me more easily? Many of the servants of the Valar had I known in my short life, but he was not one of them – neither did he have the demeanour of being _servant_ to any.

Until that moment, most serious of expression had he been. But then a knowing smile lit his face almost as if he recognised me. Pausing but a few yards away from the rock upon which I still sat, he looked up at me intently.

I, who could be wilful of nature myself and - as daughter of the Master-Smith of the Noldor - was a lady of no small importance, stood up under his appraisal, as I would have done for no other. Of that instant it mattered greatly to me that the stranger liked what he beheld.

"Who are you, if I may ask, my lord? From whence do you come?"

Mayhap I should have waited upon him speaking further, since it was not considered good manners for a maid to be overbold. Yet I could not deny my nature. Though I was one to listen, yet could I also be forthright.

The smile that graced his features was in earnest, for the light of his eyes under dark brows sparkled silver with merriment; amused it seemed to me, that I knew not who he was.

"I am from Tirion," he responded in a lighter, almost bantering tone. "I am the son of one of the noble houses. And you, my lady?" Though he had not given me his own name, there was something compelling about his request.

"I am Nerdanel, daughter of Urundil, servant of Aulë," I stated with some pride. Surely anyone from Tirion would have heard of my father?

"Of Urundil I know, and of his favour with king and Valar." He advanced up the hillside until he stood at a point higher than I, that I of need altered position to be polite – to look up to him. But he took not his eyes from me, regarding me with more intensity than could be considered appropriate for a stranger. "And of you also, Lady Nerdanel, have I heard."

At that acknowledgement I felt colour rushing to my cheeks, as it was apt to do when I felt strong emotion. He laughed. Not a mocking sound, but one of amusement, presumably at his further discovery my reactions could not easily be concealed.

"You will come down from your fortress and keep company with me a while, Nerdanel, daughter of Urundil!" Again of light humour, he made slight bow of acknowledgement to me. An elegant and correct bow it was, of one so very sure of himself. Then, gesturing to the foothills of the Pelóri, he added: "I am heading north."

I was not my usual behaviour to wander off with someone to whom I had not been formally introduced, but how could I have denied him? It was not a question he had asked me, but a statement of fact! I _would_ keep company with him! So unlike anyone I had previously met was he, and so overwhelmed by his presence was I, that I was even unaware of Laurelin coming into full bloom behind me. Only later did I realise, and with some amusement of my own, that I must have appeared to him as a rare sight in that moment; as one whose hair of brown had become a copper-red glow upon the hillside.

I packed again my supplies, descended from the rock, and we walked together, discussing many things. Though I knew him to be of a high status he did not seem aloof in the way of some of the nobles I had met. Fierce, arrogant – aye, but there was something comfortingly familiar about him as well. It was as if we had always known each other! Soon I found I was far more comfortable with my companion than with many of my father's apprentices, though I lost not the sense of awe that he had wanted to walk with me. He asked questions about my life and about the land thereabouts, to which I gave as swift and well explained a reply as I could, and I matched his wit and mood until we found ourselves laughing together as the youths we still were. We made race of ascending certain hills, that I stood little chance of winning. We climbed higher and faster than I had ever done. Yet I competed against this new 'friend' with a will, that he knew me for no idle nís of his city, but strong and independent - a true Noldo in every way. Of Aulë we spoke, and of crafting in stone. Most pleased was I that he had both interest in, and knowledge of such matters. At my mention of this he again looked amused. Such discussions were unusual with a maid at that time. We spoke of exploring the land and of places we had seen - of Valmar, and of the city of Tirion with its halls, high towers and terraced gardens.

"You visit oft with Aulë, Nerdanel? Strange it is, that I have not come across you in his dwellings."

No passing interest in crafting did he then have, to visit with Aulë! I wondered how he knew so well of the Vala, how he knew so much of matters of skill, not being of the families of the Aulenduri. But then I considered he may have trained with those few Aulenduri in Tirion, and Aulë gave welcome and guidance to any of the Noldor who sought him.

"I visit Valmar with my family whenever I am able. Though much of my time is spent with Aulë's folk rather than with the Vala himself. The Maia, Curumo, has even taken interest in my work and given me of aid." My companion seemed interested in this information, so I continued somewhat arrogantly. "Well do I know Valmar. I prefer to remain there or in the dwellings of the Aulenduri at this time, my lord. I think I should find Tirion too busy, too full of folk for my present liking. My heart is most truly in the hills, in exploration, in the desire of knowledge and in the service of Aulë. All these things I already enjoy."

"You have never been to Tirion then!" he retorted, with some surprise that I was so inexperienced of the life he knew. "You, who say that you desire knowledge, have you never wanted to visit the Hall of the Loremasters, nor wished to gaze upon the image of Telperion that stands in the courts beneath the Mindon? Have you not wished to speak with the wise of our folk upon the concourses and in the gardens of the city, or to view the entertainment in the arena? Have you not wished to see King Finwë, aye, even to speak with him? For our most noble ruler, he does oft walk amongst his people that the doors to his house are open to all."

I blushed again, to my annoyance, but he was not unkind and acted as if all were normal to him.

"I should like to visit them, indeed! But my part - my future, I think - lies in sculpting. I work well with stone, with metal, and also I have some small skill with gems, my father says. King Finwë I have met, though only once, and not to speak with. Who is to say that I may not serve he and the folk of Tirion further through my work? I made a sculpture for the queen herself a while ago. A likeness of her! She had asked me to make her a gift, before -- before she --"

"Before she died," he finished for me, with rather more solemnity than he had previously shown. The light humour vanished from his expression. Many folk yet spoke in muted tones of the death of Míriel, for none truly understood it.

"I have seen your work for her and know that Queen Míriel was well pleased with it. So pleased that she gave it to her son before she lay down in the gardens of Lórien to seek her rest." The tone of his voice altered to that of someone who had long pondered the mystery and found it a sorrow that was beyond reason. Many moments passed before I felt able to respond, and break in upon his changed mood.

"I am pleased my work brought her joy, my lord." I lowered my head without further thought, so as to match his bearing. "She was a noble lady indeed, a friend of my mother's from their youth. I would have done all that I could to be of assistance to her."

Now I reflected also, and believed I knew who he was: a friend of the prince, surely? How else could he know of intimate matters of the court? And sorrowful was I that I had been more talkative than was my wont: that I had neither sought to listen as carefully as I should, nor to understand more my companion. I did not know the ways of the people of Tirion to any extent. Until that moment I had not overly wished to. There was time enough in the life of Arda for all things, I had believed. In due course I had intended to travel to the city. But that lord's presence, his words lit a fire in me: an eagerness to know more of his world.

- - - - -

I told my parents of that meeting upon my return home. They knew from _my_ tone of voice that I liked well the one I had met.

"He had not the courtesy to give you his _name_, or to escort you back to our house?" my mother asked me in amazement, considering this a grave breach of good manners. She put down the design for decorating a goblet she was working upon, to give me her full attention.

"I did not ask him his name, mother; only who he was. To that he gave reply of sorts. He walked with me to the edge of the valley, but then headed north again – into the hills. Much do I think was upon his mind, that he wanted solitude."

Now in truth had I found the constant use of 'herunya', though a correct term of address, rather distancing for one I had spent over a day with. So, as my companion had not been forthcoming with his true name had I named him of my own device, 'Muinawë', for he kept his identity hidden, as a game I had assumed? At times had I address him as such in a mischievous tone, which he accepted with a rather ironic smile. But that name I kept hidden in itself, telling neither my parents nor any other.

My mother had looked concerned and made a dismissive sound. "His attitude holds more of arrogance than I find pleasing, no matter what you say."

When I described him further in manner and appearance my father looked perplexed, as if he were trying to decide upon something.

"Piercing bright grey eyes, you say – with a touch of silver to them! I have met few neri amongst the Noldor with such eyes. I will speak with Onónon when next I visit the city, for if this companion of yours has any training in matters of skill, then my sister's husband will surely know of him."

I had wanted to speak more of my travels to my parents, but at that time decided against it. Already I had given them much to consider. I would not entertain any further contemplation, for how was I to know when, or even if, 'Muinawë' and I would meet again?

"Think nothing of it," said I; trying over late to make light of my encounter. "For he is certainly from one of our noblest houses, and will have many a wendë fawning over him. He is not likely to seek further of my company."

My mother's face took on a look of concern. "Be not so certain of that," she whispered, with not a little foresight.

- -- - - - -

Curufinwë – Skilled Finwë

Finwion – Son of Finwë

Þerendion – Son of the Þerendë (The Needlewoman. Míriel.)

Aulendur - Servant of Aulë

Moringotho - Morgoth

wendë - girl, young she-Elf

Nís / nissi – She Elf / Elves

Nér / Neri – He Elf / Elves

Curumo – Saruman. Curunir.

Sauro – Sauron. This name is mentioned in HoME 5.

herunya – My lord.

Muinawë – Hidden / secret one.


	4. Chapter 4

**Nerdanel's Story: Fëanáro. Part Two**.

(Disclaimer: All of the characters, places, and the main story line are JRR Tolkien's wonderful creations. All references are from The Silmarillion, or HoME Vols 10 or 12. Nothing is mine except the interpretation and any mistakes, and in this chapter, and only in the sense he is derived from reading the works of Tolkien, the character 'Gaerion'. Thank you again to Bellemaine and to Emalin for all your help in beta reading and ideas.)

"..she (Nerdanel) was not amongst the fairest of her people. But she was strong, and free of mind, and filled with the desire of knowledge. "

(The Later Quenta Silmarillion. _Morgoth's Ring_ J.R.R. Tolkien. Ed C. Tolkien. P 272)

The house of Sarmo Urundil. Seventh Age. 

Now my parents have noted that I work no longer at my sculpting; that I confine myself to my room, to the library or to wandering the gardens and orchard.

They are concerned. Long has it been since they beheld me thus. Though they realise the burden of my memories have become nigh unbearable to me in this present Age, they are of the same mind as Istyaro. They would have me endure to the End, for my own sake.

Yet my changing mood has affected them more than they wish to show; that my father, who speaks rarely of the days before the sun, has begun to speak again of his bitterness concerning Fëanáro.

"I know the fault and plan were Moringotho's, but did your husband have _no_ choice in the matter? Many a time there was when the prince should have followed a course other than he did, and so greatly confound the Enemy in his schemes. Prince Fëanáro should have been the one who stood most strongly against Moringotho on behalf of the Noldor – not the one who led our folk to fulfil that Vala's dearest wish."

Always the same argument does my father make: that with the greatness given unto him by Eru, Fëanáro should have led us in discerning and rejecting the deceptions; led us to hold fast to the love and care of the Valar – not lead the _rebellion_ himself. Even now my father cannot understand how Fëanáro was so misguided, so deceived that he began the forging of swords in secret; that he turned against Aulë, who loved him - against Manwë, who honoured him - against the one who taught him the most guarded lore of metalwork and deemed him as a son. And if it is not _that_ matter he speaks of, then it is Fëanáro's denying of the Silmarils to Yavanna for the re-kindling of the Trees. Though we all were to know shortly after that denial that the Silmarils were no longer his to give, yet many believe that had my lord been able to make that choice in Yavanna's favour he would have cleansed his heart from the possessiveness which was destroying him – and matters may have been very different.

I know not! I ponder that with each choice my lord made, from the time of his arguments with the other Loremasters onwards, less freedom to truly choose did he have. _That_ choice of handing the Silmarils to Yavanna – of unlocking them, was impossible for him to make, believing as he did that the Valar sought ever to control the Eldar.

I will not argue with my father over my husband's deeds of ages past. Nor does he seek of argument, or anything that would cause me further distress. Soon will he not mention Fëanáro's name at all. I have tried to explain my own thoughts on the matter, but I cannot give to another the insights of my heart and fëa. I cannot give them to my mother, though _she_ understands a little better the predicament I find myself in.

"You have not endured for this length of time to turn away from the path you chose, daughter. Do you think it is the wish of the Valar, of your sons – of your husband? Nay – when in his right mind, Fëanáro loved your strength of spirit and body. He would not want you to languish and fade."

I know her words are true. I know Fëanáro once loved me. But the strength I gave up for him in order to bear our children has not been renewed, as it would have been if they had remained with me. I have not had the joy of my children, and all my children's children about me, as is usual. I have not had my husband's continued love to delight in.

"Seek this pursuit of bright memories, and bathe your heart in their joy," my mother says, "that in your writing you may again find peace and embrace of life."

I understand. I have no wish to add any further burden to my parents, who long bore the weight of grief with me. I do not wish to pain those good friends of mine amongst the Aulenduri who have ever stood by me, nor those nissi who have become as daughters to me.

Though her visits to me are less frequent than once they were, Nolwen would be saddened to know of my conflict of thought. In the early years after the departure from Tirion we dwelt together in my house at Neldormindo, she and I. We shared our sorrow, shared our sense of loneliness and guilt; shared our endeavours to take up again our lives. That wife of Curufinwë's; she had enough sorrow of her own. Her heart was sundered at the loss of lord and son, and at the later deeds reported to her that she thought to never have known Curvo at all. Now despite Nolwen dwelling again in the city with her family, has she ever sought my company on occasion. This I honour her for; her continued friendship with one she regards as her second 'mother'; and that though she has cause most deep, she has never spoken ill to me of my son.

Enyalimë also spent time with me in the First Age. Alas, she was to be lost shortly before Artuiel was found. Another who questioned her decision to remain was she. Did I not chide her silently in my heart for deserting my son – while _knowing_ her loyalty to the Valar had torn her asunder as much as had mine? She disappeared from Eldamar at the time of the War of Wrath. Seeking Makalaurë was she. Though none knew of her plan at the time she left, her brother was to speak with me upon his return that she had travelled disguised as a nér amongst King Arafinwë's archers. Varyaro had journeyed with her in her search, but they had become separated in the attack in which he was slain, that he knew not what had befallen her. Her parents hope ever that she return to them from the Halls of Awaiting. I like to believe she abides not with Námo Mandos; that she found again my son – that she abides with _him_ still.

Artuiel, who returned with the exiles at the dawn of the Second Age, is amongst the Aulenduri more often than Nolwen. She travels to visit with her parents, and always makes time to speak with me. Though she dwells and works amongst those in Hyarmenosto, she oft seeks to discuss her skills and her apprentices with her master of old. Never has she sought to wed. Her love for Ambarussa has endured these ages without diminishing. And still she believes that before the end of all things they will be re-united. What endurance of hope! Is she not an example to me? I pray to Varda that she is right.

Rarely do I see Ondoriel. Since her return from the Hither Lands in the company of Lord Elrond's folk, she has sought much of solitude. Her skill in broidery and weaving she yet pursues keenly, though amongst her mother's kin. She is not one to be bowed down, but I know my son's deeds as much as his death are a mighty grief to her. We should have been able to comfort each other more, for we were once much alike. But she cannot bear to be long amongst the Aulenduri, and I cannot bear to be long away.

Now I am become aware that my mother has sent letter to Nolwen, Artuiel and Ondoriel, requesting them to pay visit. She believes that to speak again with those who also love my sons will brighten me. That it will - though I would that my 'daughters' are not caught up in my present concerns or mood.

Until they give reply, I will continue with my recording of memories.

- - - - - -

My parents had noted my change of mood – that I had become less focused at my studies and training than was usual. There was one occasion when I had stood too close to my father that I was showered with white hot sparks, smoke and sand from his forging. He was aghast! Never had he feared for me in the forge before. Most children of the Aulenduri were not allowed through his door when he worked, but I was ever observant and somewhat solemn in my concentration that he allowed and enjoyed my company. But that day had my mind wandered elsewhere. Once my mother had tended to my burns, my father gave again of his lecture on caution when close to fire. He also sent Tulcon, his youngest apprentice, to Tirion with a message.

Now my father had intended to make visit to Tirion in the very near future. He had plans to discuss with Onónon, said he; plans of a most delicate nature. Though he showed forth those plans, designs for an aqueduct, yet did I suspect they were not the 'delicate' matter he referred to.

They wanted to be of help to me. My parents wanted to find out more about he whom I had met with in the hills. They wanted to know more of one who could so turn the head of their most sensible daughter that she seemed as in a dream. For my part had I tried to continue with my everyday life those ten days since I had been in his company – but oft did I 'see' again in thought those piercingly bright grey eyes, as if he were summoning me.

'Is this love?' I had wondered. But I _was _sensible, and knew that to be unlikely at such short an acquaintance. I knew it was more likely that my 'Muinawë' had some noble maid of the city with whom he was considering betrothal.

At times in those few days, did my mother look strangely at me, as if she knew something and was not best pleased.

"Come now, Mother!" said I, at a moment when we were working together in the gardens. "What vexes you? What secrets are you keeping from me?" I knew that my mother was gifted with more foresight than many nissi, and I would have her counsel whatever the matter was.

"No secret, Nerdanel," she gave answer; then sighed. "It does but seem to me that the years of childhood pass swiftly. My child you are, yet soon to be a full grown nís."

"Is such not the nature of things, Mother?"

"Your father has sent Tulcon to Tirion with the plans he has contrived for the new aqueduct. He is also to ask if Onónon and Nessimë will join us for a visit in the near future."

"So you and father can ask them about my companion?" My voice rose in tone more than I had intended, and my mother raided an eyebrow, not surprised, I believed, by my protest.

"It is _obvious_ that you like him, Nerdanel. The first it is that you have behaved in such a manner, that we know it for stirrings of your heart. While not all such stirrings lead to anything further, let us at least be certain of this 'mystery's' name and family."

Though I wanted more than anything to talk to her of him, to tell her more of how highly I regarded him, I also wanted not to so speak. (If you have felt this early stirring of the heart, mayhap you will understand?) I did not want this strange feeling to rule my life, to alter the existence I had hitherto enjoyed. As I felt my face beginning to warm with colour, I tried to change the subject of conversation.

"Father does think I am over fond of Gaerion."

The rose bushes we were planting were laid carefully on the grass, as my mother stood up to look with more compassion upon me.

"So _he_ believed. But I have never observed such a reaction in you to Gaerion's presence as you are now displaying. I know Gaerion to be your friend, and friend only. Tolfaen I thought to be another matter; until these last few days."

I rose swiftly to my feet, stung into denial by a sudden image of the quiet, pale, ash-brown haired Tolfaen – who it was true, I had rather liked - alongside the dark-haired intensity, the fiery energy of he who held my thoughts captive.

"_Nay_, mother! Tolfaen do I admire, but I can scarce say I am fond of him compared to …."

My mother smiled broadly, her point made. "Let us see what news Tulcon returns with, or what Nessimë can tell us."

We continued to work in the garden together, moving through the more formal rose and lavender walled garden - shooing away the playful young cat that had strode over to rub herself against our gowns and feet.

"It is not that I fear you growing up, dear one. It is that love can be one of the few things to cause pain. And you are still very young. Had this nér given you his name it would have been more promising. As it is, either he is arrogant beyond measure, or playing a game that is unsuitable in noble society. But a sense of foreboding have I, and would rather you contained your enthusiasm until we know more."

I had laughed at this; no real concept of hurt, or fear, or loss had I. But I prayed to the Valar for Tulcon's swift return!

- - - - - -

The following day I had a visitor. I had watched his approach from a considerable distance, as I had been in my room in the high tower, looking out along the Calacirya towards Tirion and the sea. A thin figure dressed in grey and blue; a Teler it was, for those of the third kindred are generally of a shorter and lighter stature than we Noldor. (Though that _particular_ Teler was not short.) I hurried down the winding marble staircase and called to my father, but he was engrossed in a work he was crafting for the Lord Essilon, and answered me not. My mother was visiting with a friend. So when Failië answered the door, I alone of my family greeted Gaerion.

The Teler looked somewhat drawn and concerned. As I invited him into the main hall to offer him the welcome cup, he explained the reason for his presence.

"I did not know why you came no more to the sea, Nerdanel. I thought that mayhap, in some way unknown to me, I had caused you offence?"

We Noldor are not a folk given to openly affectionate touch that readily. I was no exception to the rule. Though the fire of my spirit oft burnt most hot within me that I was capable of great passion, I did not easily embrace strangers, even friends! But so lost and unsure did that friend of mine appear that I took up his hand and held it fast, reassuringly. His oval, grey-green eyes widened considerably at my gesture, and he seemed unable to speak clearly for a moment.

"Lady, is all well with you?" he almost whispered. "Is there aught I can do to help you?"

I smiled at his most considerate words; glad to see him was I.

"I am well, Gaerion. And most certainly have you done naught at which I could take offence."

A bright smile broke over his thin face in response. His shoulders relaxed from their tense posture and he placed a warm hand over mine.

"I have been overly busy with my training, and about the house of late," I continued, thinking that it did me little good to use that excuse to keep watch for news from Tirion. Better it would be to avail myself of my friend's company, and a new journey. "I have not had the _time_ to visit. But now you are here, and I will not be lacking in my duties if I take a walk with you this day and the morrow. Most pleasing would I find it to smell the sea air again, and to hearken to the waves breaking upon the shore."

He was beside himself with eagerness, that silver-haired Elda.

"Then change quickly; fetch your cloak, and let us be away!" said he, making as if to head back to the main doors. "I have provisions for a few days with me, as I had thought to walk back and visit Tirion if you would receive me not, nor walk with me."

"Receive you not? Never shall that be!"

Yet as I spoke, my heart leapt at the mention of Tirion – at the thought of he whom I associated with that city. Gaerion was not the one whose eyes I 'saw' in dream, but he was kind and considerate, and had always acted as the best of friends in the regard he showed to me. And he was a welcome diversion from the recent days of contemplation I had been struggling with. If any news were to come from Tirion – pleasing or otherwise – it would most certainly keep for a day.

I raced up the stairs again to my room, changed into my usual walking garb of thin, belted tunic over trousers, and picked up my boots and cloak. Meeting again with Gaerion at the front of the house, we headed to the workrooms where I gave call of my intentions to my father. Seeing some of his apprentices take note of my words, I waited not upon his reply.

So it was that Gaerion and I set out upon that walk which would take us to the Shadowmere and the sea, rather than that which went past the green hill of Túna. We had intended to wander through the valley and then turn north along the coast, far enough to catch sight of Alqualondë. We never got that far, however.

We had not drawn anywhere nigh the Shadowmere when, from a distance we heard a horseman riding after us. A dark-cloaked rider upon a golden horse was swiftly covering that distance and we halted to greet him, to hear what message he bore. As he drew closer I recognised Tulcon, and wondered why he was seeking us, rather than returning to my father's house.

"Hail, Lady Nerdanel!" he called with more tension in his voice than I was accustomed to hearing. "You are to return home immediately."

"Indeed, Tulcon! And what of the reply from my family in the city? What of _your_ return home?"

With a nod of greeting to Gaerion - a friendly nod, for those two enjoyed each other's company - Tulcon continued to explain.

"I have already returned home. Your father sent me straight out again without rest. A new horse, aye, but not a new messenger! My Lord Urundil finds himself in a position of some embarrassment, he says. I had company on my ride back from Tirion, and there is someone wanting to see you - to give you a gift. You are to return straight away."

In no way did I wish to be a cause of embarrassment to my father, and strange was the news that a gift be brought me from the city. I was not expecting anything. It was neither anniversary nor celebration of mine.

"Do you know whom the gift is from? What it is?" I asked, while Gaerion began stroking the horse and talking to it in that calming way he always had, that it seemed a friendly conversation was begun between nér and beast.

Tulcon looked most uncomfortable. He fidgeted on the horse in a manner that made me suspicious that something far more than usual was afoot. "Nay, Lady Nerdanel. I know not what the gift is or whom it is truly from. But he who brought it seems in no good humour that you were not there to receive it."

Thus there was naught for me to do but to return. I made sincere apologies to Gaerion, who had surely known from Tulcon's arrival that our plans for the day would not come to fruition. Gaerion was not overly disappointed; at least he did not so appear.

"I shall turn to Tirion as I had first thought to do, Nerdanel. I should like to see the city of the Noldor, and to do so before _you_ manage to gives me much amusement." He gave the horse a last stroke, then bowed to me. "As long as we are still friends, my heart is not sad."

"We are friends, Gaerion," I replied with genuine feeling. "Always, we are friends."

(I did not know at that time that I was to break his heart. I did not know that already, Gaerion loved me. Would it have made any difference in what followed? Though it pains me to realise I caused another grief, I am certain it would not have changed a thing. Though always has Gaerion been most dear to me, my doom was set as other than wife to a kindly seafarer.)

"Let me have the horse, Tulcon! For if the matter is truly urgent, I must needs be swift. One can be carried more swiftly than two."

Tulcon frowned, unhappy at the thought of walking back to the house. But he could not argue with me - even now he finds it difficult - and so it was, that I was galloping back along the valley to my home, to my visitor and gift, before Gaerion had even waved farewell.

- - - - -

My father had hurried out to meet me as I rode into the courtyard and dismounted. Artaro made to take the horse, and I was ushered unceremoniously into the house, my father informing me of the cause of haste as we walked.

"Prince Curufinwë!"

I could not believe it! The son of King Finwë was waiting upon me? He it was who had brought me a gift.

I had expected the visitor who had ridden with Tulcon to be a messenger - mayhap even one from a son of a noble house - from 'Muinawë', and that thought had set a greater urgency to my return home than I had cared to admit. But it was the prince? I could not totally hide my disappointment, even under my curiosity. The prince had never paid visit to the dwellings of the Aulenduri, though I knew he was apprenticed to my uncle in Tirion, and had great skill in smith craft. And what was this that he brought me a gift?

"Quickly, daughter," my father urged, turning me away from the main hall towards the stairs; calling on Failië to assist me. "Go freshen yourself and change into something more appropriate. The prince is in poor humour at you not being here to receive him. Thankfully he shows more than a passing interest in the seeing glass I craft for Lord Essilon, that I can divert him for a short time."

Though my parents had always been happy with the way in which I presented myself, given the status of our visitor I was determined that I should appear as a true and high-ranking maid of the Noldor, rather than some wandering discoverer of sights unseen. I willingly complied with my father's command. Such an attitude was right and proper. But I still did not understand the meaning of the visit.

"I know not the prince, Atar, nor have I ever even met with him." I questioned that which seemed to me something inexplicable. "Is it not _you_ he is here to see? Now that I _could_ understand!"

As we reached the landing of the fifth level, upon which my room was situated, my father stood back that Failië rushed ahead of us, a most amused grin upon her face.

"The prince is here to see _you_, Nerdanel. Of that have no doubt! And an honour it is for us to have the son of King Finwë in our house. But remember – you also are of noble status, beloved of your family and of Aulë. Let him not speak to you as if it were otherwise."

He took hold of my hands then, and looked me in the eyes. Such an unusual gesture it was for him. "Here, among the Aulenduri, are _you_ held as a princess."

To my father was that statement most true. He would not appreciate any speaking disrespectfully to his daughter, and would have shown the door to a visitor whom he knew had offended me – prince or no!

As my father turned to descend again the stairs – to entertain our most noble guest, the thought suddenly came to me.

"Queen Míriel's gift!" I laughed with embarrassment, as realisation dawned on me. "The prince brings the gift his mother promised me. That must surely be it? My companion in the hills those days ago, he said that the queen had given my sculpture to her son, before she died. Mayhap she also laid it upon him to bring her gift to me?"

From his expression it was obviously not what my father had concluded. He hesitated, as if unsure of what to tell me. "No mention has the prince made of Queen Míriel, or of her gift; but of you has he made much and detailed enquiry. It seems to me from the astuteness of his questions that, though you claim to know him not, he already knows you well, daughter."

Then did _I_ know, with the same certainty that, in those times the light of Laurelin would follow that of Telperion. "It was _Prince Curufinwë_ with whom I walked in the hills! And you knew this? You and mother, you knew who it was, yet told me not?"

My father nodded, with the slightest hint of red upon his face.

"We thought it to be him from the start – from the appearance and manner you described. But we knew not of certainty, and had sent to Nessimë and Onónon for confirmation. So did we say naught to you. Your mother has had much disturbed rest since your meeting. A reputation this prince already has, of the highest standing; yet is he also known for his difficult moods, his restlessness, that many do say it is as if a secret fire burns within him."

Pondering for a moment, my father drew a deep breath before continuing. "But for my part I find him uncommonly learned and of great potential. You should see what he wants of you, if the thought brings you joy."

"The strong willed, hot tempered prince!" I exclaimed, though my heart felt as if it were in my throat at that sudden revelation of just how high I had set my hopes of love. "He whom you wished not to have as an apprentice! Yet you want me to see what he wants?" I spoke in feigned temper of my own, yet did my father know the thought of meeting with Prince Curufinwë again, of certainty brought me joy. And my fëa was moved with anticipation of what lay ahead, for surely to so visit, the prince had taken pleasure in my company, even as I had in his.

- - - -

With Failië's aid, it was less than quarter of one hour before I again descended the stairs. She had seen him, she said. She was _most_ impressed! But for once I knew not what to say to my friend and childhood confidante, that my thoughts were on him alone – and on what I considered to be the folly of my desire.

Robed in a white silk gown, with my hair brushed out and a copper circlet my father had made upon my brow, I entered the main hall and looked around.

"Atar?"

But of neither my father, our guest, nor of any of our servants, was there sight or sound. The long, brightly lit room seemed empty. No one was there.

So did I think my father had taken the prince to his forge, to speak with him further of matters that interested them both while they waited upon me. I should have gone hence myself; then something most unusual caught my eye. A book it was, laying a top the oaken table to the western end of the room. Most rare and precious were books at that time - for Rúmil's script was suited more to carving and engraving, and it was many years before that same prince who waited on me was to devise the Tengwar - so I crossed the floor with interest, to make touch of the thick, gem encrusted cover. Reverently I turned through the illuminated pages. A book on the Valar it seemed to be, giving some detail about their city, Valmar, and their halls, and a short history of their deeds in Arda. Again did I glance around the room and call back to my father, but there was no reply.

Much as I wished to see again Prince Curufinwë, I thought the book to be his gift. And that he had left it there, while himself at the forge, was but to invite me to look through it. Mayhap that was his intent I naively assumed? No harm would it do to make a quick study that I knew of what I spoke when he returned to the house and could give proper thanks. I drew up a chair and bent my head over the pages of the gift, intensely engrossed in the minutiae of the illustrations and explanations.

For some time must I have sat and studied. As the light of the Trees changed to the second mingling of silver and gold, I heard faintly the sound of some of my father's apprentices leaving the forge to return to their own dwellings, and in the distance they called 'farewells' to each other. I knew I should go in search of my visitor; my heart raced again at the very thought - but still I would read of _one_ more page.

"If you will not come up to Tirion to seek knowledge lady, then I am duty-bound to bring it to you; for so my mother would have wished. But I thought not that you would seek to read of the whole volume in one sitting, and that while you have a guest!"

So sudden and unexpected was the sound of that familiar, yet somewhat sarcastic, voice that I jumped involuntarily and almost dropped the book from my hands. The high backed settle in the far corner of the room which was placed to overlook the forge, moved. He who had been my companion in the hills, rose to his feet and turned to face me.

Though I was aware that he had deliberately allowed me to believe myself alone in that room, yet painfully ashamed of my own lack of attention, my apparent lack of desire to meet with him was I. Hurriedly striving to regain my composure and put order to my thoughts, I made a deep curtsy to him.

"Prince Curufinwë! Forgive me; for I noticed you not."

Now with hindsight, they were not the wisest of words with which to welcome one such as he! How to speak further? For I would have his good opinion, though not be drawn further into his game with me - if game he was playing? He gave me no answer so, without rising from the gesture of acknowledgement, I tried again.

"Forgive me, I beg of you, my Lord Prince. I do bring shame upon my parents by my behaviour. I had thought you well occupied with my father, and not waiting in this room upon me, unannounced. No excuse have I for being so self-absorbed, save that your gift could not have been better chosen, and by it am I greatly honoured"

But that was enough entreaty on my part. I ever sought to be considerate of manner, yet I had pride of my own.

As I rose from the curtsy, that gaze that had so mesmerised me when first I had beheld him ensnared me again. So deep and brilliant were his eyes, yet somewhat cooler than at the time we had walked together. Not particularly amused was he at that moment, and a touch impatient or disappointed, it seemed to me. Matters had not developed in the way he had planned, and that he was one used to being in control of situations I had known from our first meeting. Ai, I liked him very well; for most intriguing was he of character, most different from any other I knew; most pleasing to behold. But his realm of control would not include me, I then determined. If we were to have any form of relationship, I could not, would not let him control me.

"Honoured!" The word was uttered in a dismissive tone, as he drew in a deep breath. "So you know me now!" he continued dryly. "Better did I like it when you did not; when you addressed me as Muinawë. Then were you of nature most eager to please. Then did you behave as a free-spirited lady, rather than as my servant."

As a challenge to me, as a test of sorts, seemed those last of his words. Though I knew them to be but a continuation of his 'game', I could not let them pass unanswered. "Though I _honour_ you now as prince of our people, no servant am I, save unto Aulë. Yet do I seek to please you, my lord, if you will but tell me more of the purpose of your visit?"

"My purpose was to seek your company on another journey, that your father sends not further enquiry after my family to the city," he stated bluntly as he cast an appraising eye over my attire. "But I see you are now transformed into the daughter of the house, who would doubtlessly prefer to plan for festivals, make music and indulge in idle talk with her friends."

"Not so!" I protested with a laugh, but his expression changed not a whit. "I thought you knew me better than that from our earlier meeting, my lord. And from whatever questions you put to my father."

The slightest of smiles touched his eyes

"Your father tells me little I did not already know from my own observations and from _my_ enquiries made of Onónon. But still do I say you have a different manner to that upon our earlier meeting. There were you warm of nature and most free of speech. Now I consider you will simply do as I bid. If I ask for your company, or for to bring me refreshment or to show me of your crafting, you would hurry so to do, though out of duty. Such folk are plentiful in Tirion. I thought you to be more free of mind."

'And I found you enlivening and delightful company when we met earlier. Now do I consider you most arrogant and ill mannered,' I thought guardedly. I felt devastated – angry that the one I had held in high esteem could speak in such a way. What had changed?

Then the idea came to me that, now I knew him for whom he was, he was assuming I would behave towards him as did others. But there was more to contemplate. It had been said by some of those who travelled to and from the city that, though many admired Prince Curufinwë, he had few close friends; partly because he did not want them, and partly because most, save the Lords Ecthelion, and Alcarin, could not long tolerate his temperament. His father loved him beyond measure, even more so since the death of Queen Míriel, and would have naught said against him. Free was the prince to indulge his moods to the full. None there were who could curb the excess passion of his reputed fire, or help soften his manner: no one since Míriel, who could speak wisdom and peace to his fëa and give him respite from his own intensity.

"I would do the things you ask out of courtesy, my lord; as one who is noble shirks not at giving of their aid. And as to my warmth and freeness of thought; if we travel hence again, then shall you know if you are in error or not."

So boldly did I speak, yet did I take up again the book from the table, without thinking, and hold it before me, almost as a shield for my own desires.

At my gesture rather than my words, his expression became warmer.

"Indeed, your gift is most pleasing to me, and much there is within that I would like to speak of with others." I tapped the cover of the book, as if to imply that its value was my reason for holding it so. I think not that he was fooled, for the warmth then touched the corners of his mouth as he smiled with some satisfaction.

"You like my company!" stated he.

Choosing to ignore his comment for the moment, for I, also, could play a game; I continued with my suggestion. "For example: it speaks much of Oromë and shows portrayals of his halls. Never have I visited his woods or dwelling, though much has he to do with our people. Would that I could travel to meet with he and his people, to seek understanding and answers to the questions I have?"

Unsure was I of that idea's reception, of what thoughts were going on in that 'uncommonly learned' mind; but Prince Curufinwë seemed to consider my request. He relaxed in stance; his remaining coolness melting into a look of growing amusement, and he took up a goblet, which must have been beside him on the settle, to drain the last of the wine it contained.

"I had thought of a different place," said he, with a touch of lordly indulgence in his tone. "I should have thought the house of Oromë too boisterous for the likes of a maid. And his wine too rich and potent!" he added with a grin. He knew I would not deny him my fellowship; he _knew_ I liked him. In that moment it seemed his game of indifference was abandoned – that he was 'himself' again.

"Maid am I, but not one to cower in the corner when there is knowledge to be sought. Though will I be guided by your experience, of course, my lord." Such words had a balance about them. For though he was most certainly beyond me in learning and exploration, neither was I unlearned, nor daunted by the unknown - or by him.

"But I have thought oft on a certain question," I persevered, "One I had considered asking Oromë, though it is in my thoughts that you may well answer it in his stead, Prince Curufinwë, as you have so much knowledge to hand."

He should have rebuked my attempt at baiting, but he did not. So did I know that he liked my company well. Ai, had I not known it from the start! And I met his gaze fully with my own stubbornness of will, beholding something in him I had not expected. Though in no manner was he ever shy, yet until that time had he been unsure of my response. For all his self-will and confidence, he had been unsure I would show further interest in him, knowing who he was. In that moment we both understood each other a little better, and he made to sit again upon the settle, beckoning me to sit with him.

"Speak on, Nerdanel. I hear you!"

"Though I love well this land of Aman," said I, taking that seat as I would have sat beside a well-known friend, "I oft wonder why our people forsook the land of their birth? Why they truly left Cuiviénen, as that was where Eru caused them to awaken?"

The prince lowered his gaze at mention of the One and I bowed my head. Rarely did we utter that name, then as now - it must be understood. Then he gave answer: "Our people left the land of their awakening to seek of the Light. To dwell in the sight of the Trees and in the presence of the Valar, as is said at the festivals and inscribed upon the doors to my father's halls."

"I understand the wisdom of your answer, my lord. Yet is something still amiss! For some do say we travelled hence to be safe from taint, or from some evil of the Vala Melkor's design. Yet are our people no cravens, nay, neither the Vanyar nor Teleri! Mayhap it was our purpose to bring light unto those Hither Lands? I have spoken with my parents, with some others of the Aulenduri who made the great journey and also with Aulë. But little does our mighty Vala say on the subject other than he is most glad the Noldor answered the call. I would ask of Oromë; he being one who loves the lands of our birth and journeys there still."

The prince sat in thought for a moment, though I believe none of my ideas were new to him. Then he nodded. "As you wish, Nerdanel! For I have wondered about the lands to the east of the sea. Though I know much of my father's thoughts, both of the lands themselves and of the Great Journey, I would hear the words of Oromë on this matter."

And so was I content. For what had started off that day as an encounter most tense was become more the relationship I had hoped for. Never did I wish to _control_ him, for was not his tempestuous nature part of his attraction? But I would show him that I was made of strong stuff; that I would not quail beneath his moods but be a true friend and speak my mind, though always with the gentleness of touch that he surely missed from his mother.

"We have an understanding then?" I replied with quiet and growing confidence that matters were progressing well. "That I do not offer to be your servant, Prince Curufinwë, but your companion, if that is what you seek?"

He smiled openly at those words, his features lit with that charisma that he rarely chose to show, but which could be with him in such abundance. "Mayhap I seek neither servant nor companion!" he exclaimed, making to rise to his feet. "But I take your present offer at this time, Nerdanel. I ask only that you be yourself. Enough fine ladies there are in Tirion who are interested in idle chatter. Be thou unto me something different."

My gasp of surprise must have betrayed my thoughts at his suggestion and last form of address, for it was the more intimate, affectionate term he had used. Such was not customary between those who hardly knew each other.

"Now, to that end of being my companion, get you changed back into clothing more suitable for our purpose, while I inform your father of my intent." he spoke light-heartedly. Then, with an elegant, sweeping bow to me, he turned straight to the door and to my father's forge.

It transpired that my father had left the prince in the main hall at the prince's own request. That Prince Curufinwë had wanted to speak with me alone had not been of great concern – for we had already been alone in each other's company, and needed no real introduction. But less readily did my father agree to us riding out together for the several days the prince proposed.

In travelling garb again, and with much lightness in my own heart, I came upon them both in my father's workroom, their discussion, alas, turning to near confrontation.

"Three days, and no more! Nerdanel is training to become an Aulendur and has work to be about. I cannot agree to a longer journey with you at the moment, Prince Curufinwë." My father spoke with the respect due to so highborn a personage, but with determination that my immediate future be not cast aside by my newfound passion.

I noticed the prince's eyes narrow in response, his jaw tighten and lips thin in a manner I was soon to learn was a warning sign best not ignored. But he spoke courteously, if dryly in return.

"No wish have I to interrupt the apprenticeship of your daughter, my Lord Urundil. I hold her training to be of great import. Three days it shall be – this time!"

With that agreement, and a look of curiosity at me, my father gave us his blessing and farewell.

Late it was in the day that we rode west, though neither the prince nor I were tired, or would seek of rest in the three days we had been granted. Straight for the woods of Oromë did we head, fired with the enthusiasm of exploration – with the enthusiasm of being in each other's company.

As my dappled mare cantered alongside his high-spirited, dark brown horse, a thought came into to my mind that I would share.

"What if my father had denied us this journey, my lord? By your countenance before him I almost thought you would have carried me off without his permission?"

"You begin to understand me well, Nerdanel," he replied with a smile, "and that I like to have my own way in _all _things."

I had not realised at the time that he spoke in earnest.

- - - - - -

Moringotho - Morgoth

Curvo – Curufinwë - Curufin

Makalaurë – Maglor

Arafinwë – Finarfin

Ambarussa – The twins. In this case, Amras.

Muinawë – secret or hidden 'one'. The name Nerdanel calls Fëanor before she knows who he is.

Nís / nissi – She Elf / Elves

Nér / neri – He Elf / Elves.

Regarding the sons of Fëanor and their wives – I am taking up a reference in note 7 to the essay 'Of Dwarves and Men' in HoME 12, where it says:

"Maedros the eldest appears to have been unwedded, also the two youngest (twins, of whom one was by evil mischance burned with the ships); Celegorm also, since he plotted to take Lúthien as his wife. But Curufin, dearest to his father and chief inheritor of his father's skills, was wedded, and had a son who came with him into exile, though his wife (unnamed) did not. Others who were wedded were Maelor, Caranthir.


	5. Chapter 5

**Nerdanel's Story. Fëanáro. Part Three.**

(Disclaimer: All belongs to Tolkien. All references are from The Silmarillion, or HoME Volumes 10 and 12. Nothing is mine, except the interpretation and any mistakes.)

With thanks to Bellemaine and Ellfine

"She (Nerdanel) made images, some of the Valar in their forms visible, and many others of men and women of the Eldar, and those were so like that their friends, if they knew not her art, would speak to them; but many things she wrought also of her own thought in shapes strong and strange but beautiful."

(The Later Quenta Silmarillion _Morgoth's Ring_ J.R.R. Tolkien. Ed C. Tolkien. HarperCollins p272.)

The House of Sarmo Urundil. Seventh Age

Though I have oft dwelt at my father's house during my long years, it was to that first of my homes as a wife that I retired for much of the First Age, in which I dwelt for a time with Nolwen, and to which I go when I would be alone with my memories.

That house it is which Fëanáro and I built together when our love was young, to be our dwelling place during the first years of marriage. Nowhere near as grand as the residence we later built upon the western slope of Túna is that isolated tower – Neldormindo - but it is the 'home' of my heart. Situated upon a wooded hill behind a high beech hedge, so as to give both privacy and a most glorious view over the nearby lake from the highest two of its five floors, it is extensive enough to accommodate several folk comfortably. A place of refuge from the demands of others, a place to ponder, study and to create in is that home of our youth; not a palace for receiving of lords and ladies or for grand councils of matters politic.

The statues are there; set in a row against the windows of the fountain room. I had them moved from the house in Tirion a few years after Fëanáro and Ambarussa were slain. I wanted my creations of _our_ creations to be closer at hand, that I need not tread the road to the city whenever I would cast eye upon them.

So it has been that, prompted by my present mood and to lessen my father's concern over my listlessness for all in life save my writing, I visited Neldormindo again. Though naught has blurred my memory of my lord or any of our sons, yet that place seems to resonate with their presence - with their laughter - more than any other.

During the week of my visit I wandered the tower and the grounds (which are in the care of Failië and Hlaron's granddaughter - Meryë) taking note of the small alterations that had been made to the gardens and workrooms since my last visit. Ever considerate of my needs have the descendents of Failië been. Yet little have I wanted changed about the living areas. My room and study on the fourth floor is as it was; save that a few more recent works of craft from my apprentices have been added. The fifth floor, which was Fëanáro's study, has not been altered at all. But it was not those places in which I spent most of my time – it was the fountain room on the ground floor.

On the morning of the second day of my visit I had risen early and taken myself to the fountain room to contemplate – to ponder the choices before me with no other save the images of my sons for company. Always had I been tenacious; strong of body, heart and hope that it seemed as folly I should show such weakness as wishing to depart of life. Over the ages had I fulfilled what my nature and skills required of me; had I attained a place of quiet peace in my heart that I thought would endure. Yet I was to be shaken in my complacency, that my thoughts turned ever more to my family again. The weight of grief over my lord and sons had ever been but at the edges of my mind. Always had I prayed to the Valar for them, that they would seek and find of forgiveness – of healing. But since the return of Findekáno to his kin, the reality of my situation - of what _I_ could possibly hope for as wife and mother of the 'House Accursed' - had struck me with a force. I had come to dwell overmuch upon the _hopelessness_ of my plight.

Now as I sat in thought, I realised most clearly that the writing down of my memories had indeed reminded me much of the days of innocence; had given me a new sense of purpose. That purpose was confirmed by two events that occurred at Neldormindo. Both happenings were most unexpected.

I had seated myself upon one of the stone benches facing the windows and the statues of my sons, as the first, pale gold rays of Vása lit the room. The rich fragrance of the rambling, red roses I had planted shortly after Makalaurë's birth reached out to me in my east facing retreat, carrying with it many happy and potent recollections that it seemed I could hear again my second son and his brothers, lifting their voices one by one to join in his song. Even did I think to hear Carnistir, who less often gave expression in music. The sweet trill of thrush and blackbird in the nearby trees picked up the sounds of exquisite beauty as the immanent sense of my sons' voices faded - creating a sense of continuity of joy in a world that resonated still with echoes of the Great Music. So did I find my heart strangely moved with anticipation of further beauty and joy. So did it prove!

I sat as Vása coursed the sky, feeling ever more determined that there was yet a reason for me to continue in hröa; to seek to set matters aright, to say in script what I should have said in spoken word. To utter: "Forgive me, Finwion. I am so very sorry I acted as I did – that I saw not through the lies aimed at driving us apart; that matters might have been otherwise." For I would that folk knew of the truth of our life and estrangement; that they considered the knowledge I had kept to myself over the ages; that they reconsidered some of their judgements upon my lord and sons. It was not that I could change history. But I _could_, mayhap, change something of how history had been understood.

And as I pondered, the hours passed until the full light of Rána bathed the night sky and an image was set before my eyes – a silver glow flickering over the seven statues before me, caused by the light of moon and stars glimmering through the trees. So did that light appear to me as the pure fëar of those lost sons, shining forth their radiance. As I looked closely upon those enlightened sculptures that had all the semblance of life I could give, save life itself, a greater measure of understanding did I gain.

Sitting as if in the presence of those seven, it had appeared to me that their fëar _were_ made whole and unmarred. I recalled the words spoken to me in the Second Age by Manwë himself – that not all of my sons were beyond redemption. (So have I long known they were not condemned to the Everlasting Dark, as they had made oath!) Fully aware had I been that the Elder King spoke not that any would be _returned_ – but if any were _healed_ from the inner darkness that had so tainted them, I would count my years of vigil fully justified.

Of certainty did my fëa then join in Makalaurë's song of the beauty of Valinor. Even did I sing aloud the words, that I had steadfast hope that what had once been marred may yet be made whole.

Yet what of Fëanáro? What of he who was my beloved?

Even if any of our sons _are_ to be purged of their guilt, are to be healed, what forgiveness could there be for the Spirit of Fire? I understand so many reasons why _he_ may never be allowed to return. Never can I conceive of him suing the Valar for pardon. Too proud – mayhap still too noble would he be to hide behind knowing lies and false promises, as did Moringotho.

But therein lies a strange hope for him. For I do believe that, lost in darkness though he was, not _all_ light and love were extinguished in him, that mayhap Námo Mandos can rekindle the unmarred flame that once burnt so brightly, and even my lord may know of absolution and of healing.

Now I needs must ponder further upon the second event that caused me much consideration – the revelation that came to me as I stood in what had once been our room, before the likeness I had sculpted of _him_ in the time before we were wed. The image of moon and starlight upon our sons I took as a sign of hope for the future, but no present reality. What I came to realise as I stood before the sculpture of my husband must be given _much_ further thought before I make record of it.

So this day will I continue to set down my memories of the early years of our companionship; of our courtship, and continue to defy Moringotho's legacy by showing forth aspects of Fëanáro's character and life that are less well known.

- - - - -

Upon departing my father's house we rode west across the Calaciryandë, then turned south, heading for the vast woodlands wherein the Vala, Oromë, dwelt. With but three days absence granted me from my training we knew that reaching those distant glades and visiting the halls of their mighty lord was out of the question. So would we needs make do with a lesser journey. Though of a somewhat serious mind mood as a result of his disagreement with my father - as I then thought - Prince Curufinwë seemed eager to make the most of the time we had, that he was not to be disappointed at the change in our plan.

"Oft does Oromë ride abroad with his folk. We may yet come across him," he stated, with more confidence of success than I thought the situation warranted.

"It would seem that you are acquainted with Oromë as well as with Aulë, my Lord Prince?" I questioned in return.

I thought to know better the extent of my companion's dealings with the Mighty Ones. Though we abode in their land as newly invited guests – as the beloved children of Ilúvatar; yet are the Valar far beyond any of us. True Immortals are they and the Maiar alike, who existed long before Arda, rather than belonged to it. (As many do say we Quendi belong to Arda.) Though oft did our folk keep company with the Maiar for purpose of learning, a few - such as the kings of the three kindred, my father, and Istyaro - knew certain of the Valar very well.

At my question, the prince turned his head to face me, to fix his eyes directly upon me in a kind of wondering stare. I, who was unused to such intense study being made of me, fought not to colour of cheek under his gaze, nor to turn away.

He spoke then with an oddly softened tone. "I have visited with Oromë but once, my lady; and that in the company of my instructor, the Lord Tulcavaryar. Aulë I have visited several times in the company of Onónon, and thrice with my father."

And still he looked to me, as if in that moment I alone of all creation held interest for him. Most disconcerting it was! I knew that those who found another interesting would oft look to them – secretly, shyly. I had done so myself the first few days of Tolfaen's visit to my parents. But there was nothing secret or shy about the prince's approach. Forthright of gaze was he as if searching in my eyes for something he dearly sought. I could be silent no longer.

"I trust something fascinates you about the way I have braided my hair, or the necklace I wear, that you keep your eyes upon me so, my Lord Prince!" I enquired archly.

He laughed - and his eyes shone with amusement. But he deliberately kept his gaze upon me for a moment longer.

"Much about you fascinates me. Why else would I have sought of your company, Lady Nerdanel?"

At that comment I blushed furiously, annoyed with myself for such a lack of self-control. None had spoken so to me before. Why, even Gaerion who had long known me had never been so bold.

"And _you_ only notice that I look, because _you_ look to me!"

The slightest of smiles still curled my companion's lips, but he was noble enough to realise my discomfort - to turn his attention back to our path and away from my reddened face.

Until that point had we been following the oft-travelled path to Valmar. Then we came to a place where the trail split in two. The prince turned our course south west, to follow along the iris-laden banks of one of the many streams that cascaded down from the mountain heights. My own wanderings thus far had been to the hills of the north and to the eastern coast. Once away from the path to Aulë's halls I was upon land unknown.

But still the thought that my companion was so confident of my attention brought me embarrassment. I sought to explain. (I was _very_ young!)

"Though at present I learn all the skills my father asks, that I seek to become a true Servant of Aulë, it is my wish to become a sculptress," I ran a hand through the white mane of my mare, as if demonstrating my desire to feel of form; my words a matter of well-known fact. "I do make study of many folk and creatures to that end. Mayhap I do but make study of you, Prince Curufinwë, because I would make your likeness upon my return home."

Though his eyes were then turned upon the smoothed pebbles lying in the shallow stream, that shone forth almost as pearls, I still felt as if he was looking to me. My effort at sensible explanation but drew from him a further, knowing smile.

"As you will, lady."

Such confidence was there about him. Such – arrogance! I determined then that I _would_ capture his likeness, and with all the skill I possessed. I would have him impressed by my works and my potential, as my father and even Aulë were impressed. And I would have that likeness of him kept in my study, to act as muse for my further creations.

Now our ride had been at a steady canter, rather than ground covering, yet it seemed to me that the further we rode from the dwellings of the Aulenduri, the merrier my companion became. Or mayhap it was the further from Tirion? By the time of the second mingling of the light of the Trees we halted to partake of a small meal. He unclasped his silver-grey cloak, placing it upon the grass for us to sit upon. So we took brief rest by a grove of Alder trees, sharing the provisions he brought forth, and saving my supplies and our waybread until later. As we ate of the fruit, honeyed bread and smoked venison he had brought with him from his father's kitchens, and drank from the nearby rippling stream, I questioned him further as to his visit; as to his riding in the company of Tulcon to my father's house.

Prince Curufinwë made again his former response: "How else was I to prevent much enquiry being made after me in Tirion?"

Then, after finishing the remainder of the venison, he explained further.

"Barely had I returned to the city from the journey upon which we met, when I found Onónon at the doors of my father's house – and not to further my tuition in smithying! This apprentice, Tulcon, whom your father sent, had made much of our encounter to the Aulenduri of Tirion that your uncle knew of an instant whom you had met. Though Onónon did but make polite enquiry of _his_ apprentice, rumour was spreading concerning me – and that I would avoid; particularly at this time."

I could picture what happened as he gave description, and was sorry – and surprised – to have been the cause of any rumour concerning him. Yet was I not also glad at the outcome?

"So much does it seem I impressed you that had I _not_ given reply of that instant, I suspect a stream of your father's apprentices and servants would have been sent to find me. To ride back to your dwelling with Tulcon did but silence his overactive tongue in the city, and loosen it in my company." The prince's turn was it to speak archly. "Why, even did I learn that you bested him in contest with a staff! How very unusual you are for a nís."

I could not believe that Tulcon – whom I considered my friend - had divulged such knowledge. But then the prince did seem to have a way of getting what he wanted from others.

"A true contest it was. Think not that I make habit of brawling with apprentices, my lord!" I protested.

Laughing softly, he rose to his feet and made a mock bow; so I realised he was but baiting me.

"I would not have thought that you did – my _lady_."

At those words we both laughed. I knew Tulcon was young - hardly older than I - and tended to lack subtlety, though not good nature. Prince Curufinwë seemed to have concluded likewise.

So we packed our provisions, sought again our horses and resumed our journey - at a slightly faster pace. My companion kept eye on the subtle hues of the waxing golden light, as if he knew of something that lay ahead and at a specific time. We rode along a ridge overlooking a broad valley in the foothills, my mare keeping easy pace with his dark brown stallion. Many sheep there were upon that hillside – white, black, and golden 'clouds' amidst a sea of verdant grass. They raised their heads at our passing, some calling out to their wandering young, but they ceased not to chew over their own provisions of Yavanna's bounty.

Now I would have turned our conversation back to the prince's visit, and to the supposed rumours concerning him. I would know of their nature – I would know if he made habit of riding out with nissi he met, or if there were any in Tirion of whom he was enamoured. But _he_ would speak of his high esteem for those two of his tutors, Tulcavaryar and my uncle. At this later revelation I was much surprised, recalling my father's words that Onónon found the prince challenging.

Slowing the pace of his horse momentarily to a brisk trot, the prince leant most close to me, that I could feel his breath upon my cheek.

"Your uncle finds me challenging," he whispered, as if he had plucked a secret thought from my mind.

I knew not then just how perceptive he could be, but sought immediately to guard my more personal musings.

His smile broadened mischievously as he continued.

"But he is one to enjoy the challenge. I do ponder if any of his kin in the dwellings of the Aulenduri would enjoy such a challenge as seeking to instruct me?"

Now we had traversed the ridge, descended to the next valley passing close to the small village of Mámarmasto (of which I had heard much, for Tulcon had been born there) and entered the gold leafed woodland beyond when of a sudden, the prince's demeanour changed. He held his head high, as if sensing something untoward; so did I too become alert to the unexpected. Indeed, of that instant a group of four neri appeared, riding swiftly through the trees towards us.

At that point the pathway narrowed, that no more than two horses could pass comfortably between the edges of the lower branches. There was no room to turn; neither did the oncoming riders show inclination of slowing _their_ pace or giving way. We were two riders, and they four - all four, from their appearance and manner, ones who had made of the Great Journey. The prince, who had been riding at my left hand, drew his horse to an immediate halt and then turned it's head to the right, blocking the approach to me.

His voice cut through the air as a sharp knife. "Lord Valdon; you will halt!"

The face of the foremost of the green-clad riders – a heavily built nér with small, lively eyes, showed only too clearly his annoyance. But he slowed to a halt, his companions doing likewise.

"Ill-met, Curufinwë! Now, get out of my way. Can you not see I am in a hurry?"

I drew breath at the insult – never had I heard any speak _so _derisively to another. Never had I expected to hear a lord so address a prince! The first time it was that a chill shadow passed over me – that I shuddered involuntarily. So did I become aware that not all of the Noldor were in manner like the Aulenduri.

The second rider, one with over wild, unbound black hair, and the coldest, sullenest eyes I had ever beheld, made to speak. But the Lord Valdon held up his hand for silence.

"I have no time to play games with you, son of Finwë. I would be at Ettelendil's halls before the change of light. You know of my mood from the time of our last encounter." Valdon made to push forwards, to force us from the path, hard against the trees. But Prince Curufinwë was not one to give way.

"And you know of _my_ mood, my lord," the prince spoke with much command, turning his mount again, that our horses remained close together, that he was between me and those ill-graced neri. "No wish have I to halt your departure from my presence, but neither will I allow you to ride down my companion and I."

The atmosphere was most tense. I was unused to such conversation between any of the Noldor or Teleri I knew. But I _did_ know from talk amongst the families of the Aulenduri of the Lord Valdon and his three sons – that they kept mostly to themselves on their estate beyond the woods. My mother and Tulcon had both made mention that they attended not any festival or celebration, save at the Valar's command.

"You have not the watchful eye of the Lord Silwë upon you this day, in this place, that you could prevent me from doing as I wish." The lord's reply was spat with contempt. And the other riders closed in upon us.

Nodding acknowledgement of my presence, though looking not truly at me, Lord Valdon continued to address the prince with much despite. "I see you have found of Urundil's daughter - your brood mare - as your mother instructed you to do. Does she know how she is to be used?"

The son with the cold eyes snorted derisively, that though my mind told me to keep silent, I was constrained to speak.

"Urundil's daughter will be used by no one, my lord! Who are you to so speak? Who made you spokesman of insult and of ignorance before your prince and one favoured of Aulë?"

They all laughed as if at some secret, and at the prince's obvious discomfort at my outburst.

"A fitting lady, indeed!" Then Valdon addressed me, but still did not _see_ me. "A word of warning, daughter of Urundil. This 'prince' is but son of the one who led us hence to the promised land. Who led us from what we knew and loved to become lesser folk and to emptiness! I and my sons acknowledge not his father's leadership of our people."

That was more than enough for Prince Curufinwë. Though he was but a child compared to that company, he fixed his beautiful, unflinching eyes directly upon the Lord Valdon – the mind behind them demanding obedience - the words spoken now equally menacing.

"Your lack of acknowledgement matters not. My father _is_ King of the Noldor! You will mind your manners in my presence, and in that of the Lady Nerdanel, or you will find the outcome of our last encounter is but repeated; my lord."

For a few seconds they stared into each other's faces; then it was the Lord Valdon who dropped his gaze. He turned away, riding past us close to the trees, muttering: "A curse be upon you, son of Finwë. Your father betrayed our inheritance, and _you_ will destroy us all." Clear it was that he feared to confront the prince any further at that time.

With a glance at us both, the three sons of that lord followed in single file, close on his heels. So in a moment were they gone, save for the fading sound of the pounding of their horses hooves.

I was aghast. I was astounded! What an encounter! Though I had wandered the hills and shores in naught but my own company, never had I felt any sense of threat. Not that I was a feared by that lord - such was not my nature - but never until that day of such happiness did I know of such bitterness.

Prince Curufinwë watched after the figures until they disappeared over the ridge. His body was tense, his eyes narrowed and glittering with rage, but he controlled his temper – just! Both our horses danced nervously, sensing the intensity of his mood. Then he made gesture that we should ride on from that place.

So much was there I would say, so much to ponder upon. I wanted to know what had previously transpired between he and that lord. I wanted to understand the pointed references made to me being a 'brood mare', to me being 'used'. But at that moment I mostly wanted to rebuke the curse. I had heard blessings a plenty, on the Valar, on family on friends and even on animals – but not open curses. I wanted to say that such words had no power if there was naught of truth in which they could find root. I wanted to pledge my loyalty and belief in the prince, rather than in one that was obviously no friend to him. And yet - he who was but a youth had subdued of four full-grown neri by his strength of will alone. Was he not magnificent!

So we rode on for a short space in silence - I, doing battle with my growing admiration for him, and he doing battle with his hot temper.

At last he spoke; measured words, still with a touch of anger about them.

"Shall the Lord Valdon not make answer for his insult to you, Nerdanel. Most sorry am I that you witnessed such an exchange, and on a day we should both be happy."

"But why is he so embittered, my Lord Prince? His eyes speak of a lively mind – what happened that he sees only that which displeases him? He speaks of us becoming lesser folk, of Aman as being empty!"

The prince urged his horse forwards apace, as if he would put even those woods behind him. Could it be that he was running from the memory of that meeting? Nay! In no way could that have been so. Yet the thought remained lodged in my mind that part of the reason for our journey _was_ that he ran from that which pursued him.

"Have you not heard that Valdon has no wife? Three grown sons, but no lady wife nor mother."

Nay, I had not! I shook my head in answer. Though none had mentioned of a wife, I had not thought the situation to be other than that of a family. So the prince explained – unfolding a tale of sorrow before me.

"Ai, Nerdanel, from what Onónon has told me of you, you know not of grief, and may that ever endure. But for some of those who made the Great Journey following my father's advice and Oromë's lead, this land of bliss is as a curse. Some were sundered from those they loved, because they were unwilling to leave the land of their birth; even accusing my father, Ingwë, Olwë, and initially Elwë of deserting them to make struggle against the menace that still prowled the land. Some were lost upon that journey. The Lord Valdon lost part of his family at Cuiviénen, in that they would leave not the land; he lost his wife and youngest son in the crossing of the Towers of Mist, that they fell to their doom from the terrible heights. He does not forgive my father for his loss, nor for claiming that he alone is deprived of joy."

And I began to have some understanding of that nér's mood, though it did not excuse him his behaviour, nor fully explain his contempt for the son of Finwë. More was there to the situation than I was being told, for the prince had recalled the tale with some understanding of the other's predicament, yet had greeted him with little love.

"But your father is right in that he alone knows of bereavement in _Aman_. And do we not now know that the fëar of the slain reside with Námo Mandos They may in time return?"

As soon as I had spoken those words, I wished I had not. But the prince took no slight, nor altered again in mood at thought of his mother's death.

"Let us speak no more of the matter, Nerdanel, I ask of thee."

Again, he made use of the more intimate form of address that had me look upon him questioningly. He smiled; a little of his merriment restored, but then returned to his silence.

We rode on under the golden canopy of leaves, the trees whispering their own songs of joy to us, the rustling of branch and around root speaking of squirrels and birds, of foxes and mice. Then, as we broached another hillcrest, my companion signalled we should halt. From that vantage point we looked down across the plain of Valinor, upon a welcoming country of gold, and a distant greenness and brightness that was edge of the woods of Oromë.

"It is so beautiful," said I, overcome by a nigh tangible sense of strength and mirth that seemed to fill the very air. I had seen many a wood, but none that seemed so vast, so 'alive' as that one. And the light of Laurelin brooded upon each treetop, upon each leaf, giving it of a golden cast that the woods were in no way touched by gloom.

Prince Curufinwë dismounted, making to the side of my dappled mare to aid me down. Not that I had need of his help, but an act of graciousness it was that he should so do, and that I should so accept.

For the first time he touched me – his hands, warm and strong about my waist - that I felt reassured, that all was well and good – that all was as it should be. And again I felt longing that I did not fully understand – save I wished him to remove not his touch.

Mayhap he felt likewise, for once my feet were set upon the ground, he took my hand. So we walked together to the very edge of the hilltop.

"My mother thought highly of both your parents, Nerdanel. She spoke to me of the Lady Arátiel Taurlotë in particular, and that she deemed her a wise, strong and steadfast friend."

I believed he sought to explain away the Lord Valdon's disconcerting comments regarding me. But I saw there was pain upon his features as he spoke of Míriel, and I wanted him to be happy.

"There is no need …" I began. But he interrupted me, laying his other hand upon my shoulder to turn me to face him.

"Aye, there is need! I would have no misunderstandings come between us, lady. Not now – not ever! My mother spoke highly of you to me, and that I should seek of you if I needed wise and steadfast company. To find you was in my mind the day we met, though I had intended to wander awhile in the mountains before paying visit to your father's house." Taking hold of both my hands, he tightened his grip. As if he were pondering still just how much he would say to me in that moment, it seemed.

Now, that our first encounter had been no accident but a deliberate act on his part had never even occurred to me. Amazed was I that he had thought to find me _before_ we had met!

"So you sought me upon your mother's advice because you had need of a steadfast friend! But my Lord Prince – surely you already have steadfast friends?"

He grinned; his eyes compelling me to understand something – that the first meeting of ours had been in some way ordained - that we were meant to be _more_ than friends. A sense of warm intimacy seemed to settle upon us, like a net enveloping us both in a shimmering thread of glory, drawing us inexorably closer to each other.

"I have friends. But it is more than a friend that I desire. Did I not suggest as much at your house?"

"You _said_ you wanted not a servant, my Lord Prince."

He drew me closer, that for a moment we were breast to breast. His voice held again that strange, deep, softened tone.

"Nerdanel; my chosen name is Fëanáro. I would that you addressed me as such! And I have need of wisdom, not least in what has recently transpired with my father. I have need of _your_ wisdom and of your lo…"

He finished not those words that had my heart beating as a wild creature running free before the wind for the pure joy of life. A sound had pierced the air; a sound that once heard, could never be mistaken for any other.

"The horn of Oromë!"

With a wistful look, he drew me back towards the horses and helped me to remount, before swinging himself eagerly upon his stallion's back.

"I knew we would meet him this day," said he with his usual certainty about matters unknown to others, "but would that it had been a little later."

The implication was not lost on me. Only to those most close to him would he give permission to use his chosen name. And what had he almost said – that he needed my _love_? Too soon for us to be in love, thought the most sensible daughter of Urundil – thought Nerdanel the Wise. Too late for things to be otherwise, sung my heart!

"As I wish it had been later – Fëanáro!" I made affirmation of the honour he had bestowed upon me, and confirmed his feelings were most welcome.

He smiled. "So be it!"

Then the energy in him would no longer be contained, and he was away - urging his mount to great speed down the slope of the hill, his raven-dark hair and silver-grey cloak flowing back. And the pure joy and passion in his laughter resounded in my ears.

That was how I wanted to portray him! That was how I wanted to remember him – always!

- - - - - -

Ambarussa – The twins. In this case, Amras.

Findekáno – Fingon

Vása – The Sun

Makalaurë – Maglor

Carnistir- Caranthir

Finwion – Son of Finwë. Fëanor's childhood name.

Rána – The Moon

The Elder King – Manwë

Moringotho – Morgoth / Melkor

Towers of Mist – The Hithaeglir


	6. Chapter 6

**Companions. Part One.**

A/N I am so sorry about the long delay in adding to any of my stories. I have had a lot more happening in my life the last several months than I thought possible (including migraines), and now I am experiencing some form of RSI. The stories will be added to and completed, but probably at intervals and, as with this chapter, they may be divided into smaller sections than I had originally planned.

(Disclaimer: All the characters, the world they inhabit and the storylines belong to, or are inspired by Tolkien. All references are from The Silmarillion, and The History of Middle Earth Volumes 10 and 12. Only the interpretation and any mistakes are mine.)

"He (Fëanor) was tall, and fair of face, and masterful, his eyes piercingly bright and his hair raven-dark; in the pursuit of all his purposes eager and steadfast."

(Of Fëanor and the Unchaining of Melkor_. The Silmarillion_. J.R.R. Tolkien. Ed. C. Tolkien. P64)

The house of Sarmo Urundil. Seventh Age.

In his pursuit of me was Fëanáro most eager. I was already falling in love with him, and he knew it - even if _I_ would admit it not fully to myself. By the time we parted after that second journey together, he had my heart's love ensnared in a trap of his making, as if _he_ had been the master hunter in those days, rather than Oromë.

Like unto the strong friendship I had with Gaerion and the fascination I had held briefly for Tolfaen combined; and as so _very_ much more were the emotions that fast bound me to the son of Finwë. Now desires of the body were part of the love that had arisen in me, yet strong though they were, they could of course be controlled. Does the fëa not have mastery over the hröa? But desires of the _fëa _are not so easily checked. It was the first awakening in me of the sense of closeness, the sense of belonging brought about by the recognition he was one with whom I had great affinity of spirit – and the sudden intensity of those feelings almost overwhelmed me. I wanted to know him, to _be_ with him in all ways. I wanted to ride and walk and work with him; I wanted to converse and study and explore; I wanted to dance; to celebrate, to be in his arms, to feel the warm intensity of his lips upon mine.

Yet I also had certain reservations.

Though hröa and fëa drove me onwards to give fully and joyfully of myself to the emotions that, from their first awakening, include the desire for marriage; my mind mood was not that of one who would give away her independence without very much contemplation. I had not expected to feel irresistibly drawn to another so early in my life, but rather to have many a year to pursue my own interests without need to blend my chosen path with that of a husband. Much did I enjoy my own company and the following of my own will. But so strong of will was _he_; so insistent, so masterful of nature! I was not at all sure I wanted to be mastered by my own depth of feelings - let alone by him. Had I not determined upon our first encounter in my father's house that I could not, would not let him control me? Yet I knew that desire to be with him would ever mean to be in his power.

Seemingly complex was I in those days as I struggled to make my choice, and he the constant one. Too swift by far did I think he wished our relationship to progress, for he would have had us betrothed and wed in little over a year – we being hardly more than children. I did not understand him then as well as I came to. I did not understand the many reasons for his haste. And I did not _truly_ know him!

Ai, that advantage he had of speaking of me with others before we had even met - of making clear and thoughtful study of his potential bride before allowing his heart to become vulnerable to her. He knew exactly what he was doing.

And I?

Fëanáro was beautiful; noble; strong; eloquent; learned and skilful far beyond his years. He spoke to me with a passion that none other ever had, (or ever has) and talked of matters that enthralled my mind with possibilities. The mere thought of him was enough to fill me with a delicious sense of excitement! How could I _not_ love him?

In truth, it took time and experience for me to become as fiercely resolute as he that we should wed in early youth. Yet once my decision was made, it was unshakable. In those days I thought that nothing would ever divide us – for we stood together against all who would delay our union, and we chaffed at the impediment to married life of our unfinished apprenticeships.

As I now recall those early days we spent together, I wonder less at my present feelings. Such love as our union was made of – it may have been led by the design of Moringotho; by Fëanáro's pride and by my folly to estrangement; but it does not die, not even with death.

I love him still.

Now I have pondered again of late upon the torment he must endure these long ages. I know not all of the methods by which Mandos seeks to purge those in his care of their guilt, or to heal those who are damaged and in anguish; for few who return can remember their stay – those who do will speak of it not. But this I know – to be in Mandos' care is to be a spirit unhoused. So Fëanáro has likely been held these seven ages as if but a character in a book - reliving the incidents of each chapter of his life, time and again, yet not able to _do_ anything, _create_ anything - _chang_e anything. To be limited to a condition so wholly unsatisfactory to his nature - what greater punishment could have been inflicted upon one so restlessly active? Some have said (though not directly to me) that he deserves such a trial for the wickedness he caused. But even Moringotho was forgiven his early wrongdoing! It seems to me to be excessive chastisement for any Elda, that if I knew not better, I would doubt the love and care of Manwë. But for Fëanáro to be forced to endure inactivity for so _very_ long - does the thought not pain me greatly, that I who have shed so many tears would weep anew?

Aye – though I abhored his deeds at times, there is no doubt I love him still!

And what now? Now does my tired heart beat fast again, as I think upon _all_ which has occurred of late. With the passing of each day I do most earnestly believe that my sons – that some of them at the least – will soon know of healing. Mayhap even will one or more be restored to me? The memory of my visit to Neldormindo has begun to take on a life of its own, as if I expect the door to open and Maitimo, Carnistir, or Ambarussa to enter - to give me greeting as if they had just returned from a hunt. Was it a dream that I experienced at our home of old this last week; a vision of one who is so worn with living that she sees in changing patterns of light upon statues the living forms of her lost family? Was it but in my memories that I heard _his_ voice as I once had - "Nerdanel; shed not tears. Never did _I_ leave _thee_, lady. In memory art thou ever mine …."

'Finwion, forgive me for failing thee!' my heart cries out in remembrance of the event at which he uttered those words - the event of his impending death.

Was he speaking to me again – was it _real_, as that brief touch of thought had been real?

I know not the answer, nor if there is some plan or scheme of the Valar afoot, or that I am exhausted beyond any reckoning and have lost all my powers of discernment? But I have learnt so much of patience that it will cost me little to consider further that encounter. Sorrow and joy; are either foreboded us? And I have experienced abundant sorrow. If I may not feel full joy, I would at least feel fully _alive_ again; I would feel excitement that I embrace the possibility of hearing Fëanáro's voice as a draught of the sweetest water.

Now my father is still more disturbed by my recent behaviour and writing than I like. Would that I could tell him this is for the best. Happier am I in the pursuit of recording my memories than I have been throughout this present age. Mayhap I have lost much of the peace I thought to have gained - I cannot deny that is so. But in that peace I was never _truly_ healed. Mayhap it is the writing that causes me to hear again my lord's call? But whatever it is, whatever transpires – no longer is every day the same.

So it is that I welcome the forthcoming visit of Artuiel, and she riding out from Hyarmenosto in the company of another whom she has named not, save as 'friend'. I wonder what her visit will bring? I wonder what tomorrow will bring? But for now shall I turn again to the memories that, while bittersweet, yet warm my heart and bring a smile to my lips.

- - - - - - -

"So be it!" Fëanáro (for having been told by him to address him as such, so must I do) had said to me with a satisfied smile at my use of his chosen name.

Filled with overflowing energy and joy, he had turned the head of his dark brown stallion and headed down the slope at great speed, to meet with the approaching host of Oromë.

I could do naught but give chase.

That image of him; raven-dark hair and grey cloak flying back in the wind; full of delight in his life and strength; single minded in reaching his goal – it fixed itself in my thoughts with an intensity that I longed to portray through my developing skills in crafting. That was how I wanted to sculpt him, whether our relationship grew or no. That was the image I would make to present before Aulë as an example of my endeavours, and to later stand in my room as my muse. Each detail of him that I found so captivating was etched indelibly upon my memory for my future use.

And so single minded upon watching _him_ was I, that I was almost in the presence of Oromë and Vána before I knew it.

Now meeting with Oromë and speaking with him of the Great Journey had been the reason I gave to Fëanáro for _our_ journey. I had wanted to gain a fuller understanding of why the Eldar had left Cuiviénen. Although my parents and some others of those who had made the March into the West had spoken to me of their thoughts, I wanted to know more. It was in my mind that Eru Ilúvatar had caused all of the Quendi to awaken in the Hither Lands for a purpose. If that was the case, I did not fully understand why the Valar seemed to have questioned that purpose.

Oromë had been most reluctant to leave the Hither Lands, it was said; yet he had been the one to guide those willing to follow him to Aman. I had for some time desired to speak with the Lord of Forests. But at the moment the opportunity lay before me, all I could do was ungraciously wish that the Vala had not been journeying along the verdant line of the forest's edge that _particular_ day – that instead, I had more of the precious three days allotted by my father to spend with Fëanáro alone. So much for my desire for knowledge and understanding! Could Nerdanel the Wise not be as unwise as any other maid in matters of the heart?

So were my thoughts focused upon Fëanáro, rather than the Valar, as I galloped across the flower-strewn plain towards the forest's edge.

Then, of a sudden I was struck as if by a wave of immense power that made even Fëanáro seem as a babe - of an ancient, righteous _anger_ yet restrained by love. I shuddered involuntarily for the second time in that day, though for a very different reason. No chill of spirit, as in the encounter with Lord Valdon was it – rather an awe that claimed my attention in entirety. I slowed my mare to a walk. Ahead of me, Fëanáro had already drawn his horse to a halt.

Oromë approached us upon the mighty stallion, Nahar. He rode to the fore of a somewhat grand procession; the horn that we had previously heard - the Valaróma - still clutched in his left hand. Riding close by his side, garbed in pale green and with a circlet of golden roses about her hair, was Vána the Ever-Young. Songbirds followed in her train, and white and golden flowers sprung up around her horse's hooves as she passed. The two Valar were accompanied by many green clad Maiar – some wearing the pale, fresh green of the Valië; others garbed in the deeper green and brown hues of the Hunter himself. Some were mounted upon black horses, though many walked, or danced and sang. There were a number of the Tavari, the fays of the woodlands amongst that group; several rider-less horses, and a large pack of hounds that leaped and bound and investigated the edge of the trees. The hounds wagged their tails and barked excitedly at us; but it was obvious even to my inexperienced eyes that it was no hunt we had come across.

Raising his right hand to halt the merry procession, Oromë gave greeting. "Hail, and welcome to our company, Prince Curufinwë" the large, rich voice of the Vala was like the song of the deepest, greenest forests to my ears. "Hail and welcome, Lady Nerdanel."

I was a little taken aback that Oromë knew me at first glance; but thought mayhap my colouring had given away my lineage. Then again, who was I to know the extent of any Vala's knowledge?

Fëanáro dismounted; walked forward a few steps, then bowed most earnestly in acknowledgement of our welcome.

"Hail and well met, my Lord Oromë; my Lady Vána. Greeting I also bring thee from my father in Tirion. Most happy am I at our meeting, and most honoured at thy welcome. I would ask of thee permission to journey in thy company for a space this day. My lady companion has heartfelt wish to ask thee of thy thoughts on the Hither Lands, and it would please us both if thou wouldst give us of thy aid in this matter."

I had thought the prince magnificent in the way he bested Lord Valdon; now my admiration grew further. So valiant was he to face one of the Ainur without flinching, while I was yet trembling with wonder.

Turning to face me, Fëanáro gestured that I should also dismount – that I should move to stand at his side.

What to do, when my pride in being who I was; when my experience even of Aulë was not enough to still my shaking that I would be an embarrassment? But I thought upon what I knew of the Valar; that for all their might they were as we – creatures of the All-Father. We were as kin, albeit kin of vastly different form, knowledge and strength. It was for we Eldar to love and honour the Holy Ones - not for us to fall down and worship them. Neither would they have had us so do. (Save one of their number! But my tale as yet does not touch upon him.)

So I did as Fëanáro wished, stealing myself for the encounter that I be not robbed of speech. Mighty though my master Vala was, yet had I known him since before I could walk, whereas Oromë I had only viewed from a distance. I had ever been in awe of Aulë, and of Yavanna, but awe of Oromë, (if not of Vána), was of another kind. There was a wildness in his hazel eyes that spoke of a quick and lively temper; of things seen that should not have been, not even by one such as he. He knew of darkness and the measure of its dread more than many, I believed. And he abhorred its continued existence!

Yet as he focused his eyes upon me, the sense of wildness retreated, that he was one who was just and beneficent to the children of Eru – and touched with a dry sense of mirth.

"Thy father is oft in my thoughts, and most high in my regard, son of Finwë. It is my will that we all halt awhile, and partake of refreshment and song and dance. And we will sit together, thou and thy lady companion and I and mine - and speak of the matters you ask. " He smiled directly at me; a smile that warmed my heart and dissolved my fears. Aye – he was kindly; but still was he wild.

Soon enough were we seated upon the sward in the company of those Valar and several of the Maiar, while a single white robed Maia served us a welcome cup of ruby rich wine. The aroma of that wine was like that of the most bounteous harvest, deeply invigorating of hröa and fëa alike. Not used to such heady drink was I, and took but a sip before I found myself spluttering in a most unbecoming manner. Fëanáro smiled knowingly at me but said naught. Yet did I notice that he drunk but sparingly himself.

Then others of the Maiar served us with honeyed fruits and woodland faire of nuts seeds and berries made into a form of bread that melted upon the tongue. There were dried meats, boar and venison, and more of the wine for those who wished. A pitcher of clear, sweet spring water was set before me. The Tavari hovered at the edges of the group, some producing hand harps and flutes from their garments of flowing green-gold hues, and they started up a joyful song. The dogs whined a little at first, but at a glance in their direction from the Vala, they settled down in a group, waiting expectantly for treats at the end of the meal.

No surprise was it to me to eat and drink with the fair spirits whose land we lived in. I had partaken of many meals with Aulë, and many more with his servants. I knew that the Valar and Maiar needed not such sustenance (neither do the Tavari eat and drink as we Eldar do), but also that from their generosity of nature they acted oft almost as one of us. I think also they enjoyed the sensations that physical being gave them – a different, more intimate perspective of the world they had laboured to form.

With the meal finished, Fëanáro gifted Oromë with a gold circlet in which was set fine cut emeralds, and Vána with a goblet encrusted with pale rubies, opals and emeralds so as to take uncanny appearance as of blossoms upon the bough. Pleased were the Valar with such gifts, and enquired if they were of the prince's own device.

I had seen their like before - at the hands of my father, of Narwasar, of several of the most skilled Aulenduri – but not at the hands of so young an apprentice. I wondered at first if they were the works of my uncle? But Fëanáro claimed sole responsibility, showing neither humility nor pride in the statement. He had made them as gifts, intending them to be items of beauty that were a pleasure to behold and to use; and so they were! Again, he smiled knowingly at me, this time almost seeking for me to acknowledge his extraordinary skill.

It was not the time for me to speak to him of such. But my heart sang with pleasure that my companion could already imbue such energy and workmanship into objects. From him even _I _could learn much. Skilled son of Finwë indeed!

Then Oromë turned his gaze upon the Tavari, who ceased their music and made to sit in a semi-circle behind Vána. The Maiar also sat upon the sward, as if all were preparing to hear a much-loved tale recalled - as picture words spoken by a parent to encourage their child into dream. I had expected our audience with the Valar to be in some privacy – I had not expected such a crowd.

"Well then, Nerdanel, of the House of the Copper-Oak – what is it thou wouldst know from me?"

All looked to me! _Fëanáro_ looked to me!

I drew deep of breath, for I could do naught but continue. I would not shame my father's house, nor would I disappoint the prince. He had brought me to the place where my questions could be answered. Now all I need do was ask them.

Then a sense of warmth and strength was about me, as if a cloak of protection had been settled about my shoulders. I glanced fleetingly at Vána, who had spoken but little at that point. She smiled encouragingly, but she was not the source of the warmth.

And emboldened by the knowledge of _who_ encouraged me to speak forth, I found that I could all but fly!

- - - - - -

Moringotho – Morgoth

Maitimo – Maedhros

Carnistir – Caranthir

Ambarussa – The Twins. In this case, Amras.

Finwion – Son of Finwë. Childhood name of Fëanor, sometimes used by Nerdanel as a term of affection.


End file.
